


The Whole Truth

by Kaglen



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23792857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaglen/pseuds/Kaglen
Summary: A mission does not quite go to plan - do they ever?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Additional non-canon characters are my own, please allow me to keep them as my own for possible future use.

Colonel Alistair Lyle leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, he yawned, rubbed his eyes and peered at his watch, it was 0130 hours. In front of him neatly arranged in alphabetical order lay three dossiers. Unremarkable, ordinary brown folders but each one represented a human being, a life. His task was difficult, he had to select one of those human beings; one of those lives, whoever he chose would then be sent into Occupied France within the month carrying information about the planned Allied Invasion of Europe. Command had decreed that these vital facts had to be passed by word of mouth; transmission by any other means was considered to be far too great a risk.

The officer busied himself for a few moments filling his pipe with tobacco; carefully tamping down the leaves into the bowl, once he was satisfied with his handiwork he applied a match and blew a cloud of aromatic smoke into the air. His gaze returned to the folders on the desk, he knew every detail contained within but still re-read the names. Deep in thought he eased back into his leather chair. How many more times would he play with fate? He gambled with lives, the odds; one to many thousands; odds he had to accept, hard as it was. In his heart he remembered every name, every face; would this decision haunt him any more than the others?

The gentle, regular tick of the clock counted away the minutes, fifteen became twenty, then thirty. Time was running out, he had to make his choice. Suddenly the man sat up. He arranged the dossiers in order of preference, carried them to his office safe and placed them inside. Closing the heavy door he scrambled the combination lock with a deft flick of the wrist, then turned on his heel and left the room.

*****

The harsh squawk of the buzzer next to Kay Hanley-Fitch’s bed roused her from sleep. Instantly awake she slipped from cosy warm covers into the 0530 chill of the morning. The officer washed and dressed quickly, the early call told her that her boss had made his decision. She shrugged into her jacket, fastened the buttons and adjusted her black tie. Pausing only to check her appearance in the mirror she then moved out into a web of underground corridors and headed for Colonel Lyle's office.

Walking briskly she passed in and out of strange shadows cast by green shaded lamps, for no natural light invaded this subterranean world. The corridors were busy despite the hour, men and women of the Allied Nations, both service and civilian, hurried here and there, day and night. Some collected collated and recorded information, others studied maps, aerial photographs and even personal photographs sent by the general public in response to a national appeal. The original owners completely unaware that their holiday snaps of Northern Europe may provide vital information. The varied range of the tasks being undertaken, however, had only one purpose – preparation for D-Day.

Kay knocked on a dull brown door, waited for permission to enter then stepped inside.

“Good Morning Kay,” the Colonel was pouring tea from a large pot, he motioned for her to move forwards, “you’ll take some?”

The Scot’s gentle burr always seemed stronger first thing in the morning and the young woman fancied that sleep not only rested his body but also refreshed his accent.

“Tea would be wonderful, thank you Sir. May I help?”

Dismissing her offer the man carried the two steaming cups back to his desk; there was a short silence while each took a drink, savouring the warmth of the reviving liquid. Lyle and his assistant formed an unlikely but successful team. Their backgrounds ran parallel only in that they both came from long established and historically wealthy families. All other aspects of their private lives were worlds apart.

The Colonel was a retired regular officer, having served previously with the Black Watch but recalled in 1940 to help with ‘the present crisis’. He had been brought up during an era when war was still considered to be gentlemanly. Then with the rest of the world he saw a generation die in the mud of Flanders. Despite, or maybe because of, the carnage of the First World War, he continued to devote his life to the Service of the Crown and never found the time to marry. On retirement from the regiment he had returned to the family estate in Scotland, where his former batman ‘Mac’ and the man’s sister served as loyal retainers. His posting on ‘re-enlistment’ had surprised him; he was used to large campaigns and the command of hundreds of troops not the covert methods of sabotage and spying but repeated success was proving his appointment to be correct.

Kay Hanley-Fitch had a family steeped in history and privilege. Long term wealth and ancestors traceable to the Wars of the Roses gave her the easy self-confidence of her class. Life, prior to the declaration of war in 1939, was good, comprising of house parties, foreign tours and ‘The Season’. The need to earn a living simply did not exist, however, when war broke out, like many others, Kay wanted to serve her country. She was commissioned into the Women’s Royal Naval Service in 1942, her draft to work with the Intelligence Services had not been her choice but she soon found she had an aptitude for the job and thoroughly enjoyed her work. Having to spend most of her time in and around London gave her the opportunity to stay in contact with friends. Despite the dangers England's capital city was still the place to be; for Second Officer Hanley-Fitch WRNS, life in 1944, was still good.

The young woman sipped her tea using the period of continued inactivity to observe her boss. He was still an attractive man, in his mid to late fifties, tall and ramrod straight with thick silver-grey hair and a well-trimmed moustache. His eyes were also grey, a soft and gentle grey until he became angry, then they held the colour and texture of granite. As usual he wore civilian clothing, uniform was reserved for special occasions or when he wanted to impress, not that he had to wear uniform to do that! He looked tired and Kay wondered how much sleep he’d had last night, three or four hours at most. Aware that he was ready to start work she placed her cup on the desk. She had already made her own decision regarding the three agents and was certain that his choice would be the same.

“Garrison.” stated Lyle firmly.

“Sir?” Kay felt her eyes widen with surprise but she recovered herself quickly and hoped her tone had not sounded too incredulous.

“You don’t agree?” The man’s voice was soft.

“I am rather surprised.” It was pointless to lie to him, he knew her too well.

“Why?”

As head of section, the Colonel had no need to discuss any of his decisions with a subordinate, however, it pleased Kay to be asked and she often played Devil’s Advocate during their discussions, even when she shared his opinion. This time it was different; she really did disagree with him. The American Lieutenant was last on her list; relieved that the final choice did not rest with her she took a deep breath and gave her reasons.

“He normally works with a team of men and this is a solo mission. His command of French is not as good as Turner’s. He kicks against authority sometimes and,” she paused searching for words and found herself still under the steady scrutiny of grey eyes, “he is rather unconventional Sir.”

Alistair Lyle remained silent but nodded his understanding of her reasoning; his long fingers toyed with a fountain pen lying on the desk. Eventually he spoke.

“We are fighting an unconventional war Kay. I agree with you about Turner, his French is excellent but he was careless last time out. Bell is a good operator but I don’t think he is ready to go again yet. Garrison has worked alone in the past, he is resourceful and most importantly he succeeds.”

“With his team – yes,” again the Wren hesitated, unsure how to conclude her argument, “rather a gamble isn’t it Sir?”

There was another short silence; Lyle dragged his hand through his hair in a movement of weary resignation. He glanced up at his young assistant.

“I’ve been gambling with other people’s lives for a long time now - the odds are always dour. In addition to hard facts there are times when I have to use my instinct and that tells me it has to be Garrison.”

*****

Colonel Charles Yates of the United States Army placed the telephone receiver back onto its cradle. He frowned at the black instrument recalling the conversation he’d just had. British Intelligence wanted to ‘borrow’ one of his men for a special job. The speaker had been polite, almost apologetic but Yates knew he had no choice. Overall control of Special Operations still lay with the British; it was an order no matter how pleasant the voice was on the other end of the phone. Applying a match to the cigar he had clenched between his teeth he watched the smoke billow and rise for a few moments, then snapped on the intercom.

“Sergeant Major Cobb. I need to see Lieutenant Garrison now. Leave the desk and go find him.”

Cobb had been a regular soldier all his life. He’d seen good times and bad in the Army, in peace and in war but his present assignment taxed his sense of military discipline to the limit. He was a member of the support staff to a special unit, comprising of one regular US Army Lieutenant in command of four convicted criminals. The convicts now used their dubious skills for the Allies, often working behind enemy lines, if they survived the war they would receive a parole. The man got to his feet and picked up his field service cap setting it at precisely the right angle on hair trimmed to precisely the regulation length, his gleaming boots clattered efficiently on the front steps as he made his way outside. Climbing into a jeep he set off on his errand. He knew exactly where the American officer and his team would be.

*****

Craig Garrison lay on his stomach, his weight comfortably distributed down the length of his body, the rifle butt tucked firmly into his right shoulder. He took a deep breath, released it, checked his aim and gently squeezed the trigger. A neat hole appeared between the painted eyes of his target a long way down the range, quickly followed by another, then another. Changing aim he fired another three rounds, this time into the heart.

“Six out of six, Warden.” said Goniff, lowering the binoculars from his blue eyes.

“Now you Casino.”

The officer got to his feet, nodded his thanks to the fair haired Englishman, then turned to face the other three men waiting to shoot. His blue-green gaze met with the hostile brown of a stocky, dark haired Italian/American.

“So what’s this supposed to prove? That we can shoot dummies.” 

“Just do it.” The Lieutenant was accustomed to the man’s sarcasm.

“Come on Casino. You never know when one of those cardboard blighters will jump out and get you.” Goniff took every opportunity to tease his colleague and was rewarded with a look of pure malevolence.

“Butt out Limey. When I want your advice I’ll ask.”

Chief, so called due to his Native American heritage, exchanged a look of exasperation with the fifth member of the group. A tall handsome and very distinguished looking man with dark hair and hazel/brown eyes; known as Actor, because of his unquestionable skill as a world-class confidence trickster.

The group had not been in action recently and inactivity was beginning to chafe. Without realising, the five men had become used to the strange cycle their lives had adopted. The adrenaline rushes that came with every mission; the danger and excitement when they were in Occupied Europe and the overwhelming sense of relief on their safe return to base. Garrison knew he had to keep them busy and often trained with his men; he too, wondered how long it would be before they were given another assignment. Weapons drill and other routine military exercises would not keep their minds occupied for long.

“Company coming.” Stated Chief quietly; his acute sense of hearing had picked up the sound of an approaching vehicle.

The others looked up and all five watched the familiar shape of a jeep grow larger until it stopped beside them; the driver stepped out and saluted.

“Colonel Yates’ compliments Lieutenant. Would you report to him immediately? Take the jeep Sir; I’ll look after things here.”

“Thank-you Sergeant Major.” Garrison threw his helmet onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. His men watched him drive away.

“Vacation over?” Casino voiced the question.

“Maybe.” Actor’s expression was thoughtful.

“Right you lot,” announced Sergeant Major Cobb, “target practice.”

*****

Taking the steps two at a time Garrison entered the beautiful old manor house requisitioned by the War Department and now his base for the duration. He made his way quickly towards the Colonel’s office; feeling vaguely out of place in fatigues and combat boots, he knocked on the door and went in. Yates waved away the Lieutenant’s apology for his appearance and asked him to sit; wasting no time the older man began to speak.

“I have a job for you,” he paused briefly, “and I mean you, it is not for your men, this time you are on your own.” The Lieutenant remained silent but caught and held the gaze of his commanding officer who continued. “I don’t know any details, other than the British want to borrow you. A Colonel Lyle and his assistant are coming here today. I guess the job is pretty urgent because they may take you back with them.”

Yates took a few moments to relight the ever-present cigar; while Garrison maintained his silence already aware of the familiar tightening in the pit of his stomach as the prospect of a mission drew near. Curiosity and excitement mingled within, as he wondered what the solo assignment would entail, it had been a long time since he had worked alone. The Colonel’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“They obviously think highly of you, Garrison.” The two men held each other’s gaze again, neither voiced the alternative view. All agents were considered to be expendable; the special job was likely to carry special risks.

*****

Casino looked down into the courtyard of the gracious old house that had now become his home. The honey coloured stone glowed in the warmth of spring sunshine but it was neither the aesthetics of the building nor the glorious weather that attracted the man’s eye.

“Wow! What a doll.”

His three colleagues moved rapidly to suitable vantage points in order to see the reason for his comment. Casino added a low whistle of appreciation to his words as Second Officer Hanley-Fitch moved away from the staff car below. As they watched, Garrison, who had now changed into the regulation US Army uniform of dark olive jacket and beige pants, stepped forward and saluted a tall, grey haired officer in the British Army.

“What rank is he then?” Goniff asked.

“A full Colonel,” replied Actor quietly.

“Big Cheese huh! Blimey, look at that, the Warden gets all the luck; he’s shaking ’ands with her now. It’s not fair.”

“Rank has its privileges.” Chief gave a rare smile.

“You’re getting to sound like one of the military Chiefy.” The slightly built blonde grinned but kept his eyes firmly fixed on the scene outside.

“Garrison has the luck because he is a good boy and we’re not.” Casino had a clear image of the woman’s face locked into his mind’s eye because she had looked straight up at him when she had first got out of the car.

“I wonder what colour her eyes are.” Mused Actor.

“Brown.” Three voices chorused the reply.

“A deep soft velvety brown,” added Goniff wistfully.

“Shut up Limey.” Casino gave the Englishman a withering look and crossed the room to his army cot; he lay down and stifled a groan. “Will ya just shut up?”

*****

The four men had just under an hour to ponder the significance of the arrival of the two British officers. Garrison left Yates’ office with permission to give them limited information. He climbed the oak staircase to the upper floor of the house; he had limited information to give. The visiting officers had revealed little about the mission and the American was under the distinct impression that he was simply being viewed like an auction lot before the bidding started. He pushed open the heavy double doors of the room shared by his men. Four pairs of eyes followed his progress to the table in the centre of the room. He could almost feel the questions waiting to be asked.

“A mission Warden?” Actor’s tone was quite calm but the officer knew the man was as eager as the others to hear his news.

Gotta be, told you vacation was over.” Casino pulled a chair from its place under the table, sat astride it and folded his arms across the back. He was ready for his preliminary brief. “Okay, so where are we going this time?”

“We’re not,” replied Garrison, his men exchanged puzzled looks.

“But you are - huh?” Chief’s quiet voice filled the room.

“That’s right, the British want a job doing, I’ve been selected.”

“Why you? ’Aven’t they got enough of their own.” Goniff was most indignant.

“Wadda ya mean their own? Wadda ya think you are?”

“That’s different,” replied the Englishman, turning his back on Casino with a hurt look.

Garrison waited for the quips to die down before he spoke again.

“The training and the assignment will take two, maybe three weeks.”

“So what happens to us while you’re away?” The officer had expected the question. He was well aware that his men had become restless; he also knew that they would not be happy with the plans to keep them occupied during his absence. He was not without sympathy. “Casino, I’m sure Sergeant Major Cobb will keep you busy.”

“Don’t tell me; target practice; gas-mask drill; break-in and entry. Stuff we don’t know anything about.”

“So when do you leave?” asked Actor, ignoring the other man’s usual cynicism.

“Right away. You saw the staff car arrive earlier.”

There was a stunned silence. The Lieutenant looked at the four men, wondering why they were all staring at him. He did not have long to wait for the answer.

“You mean you are going with that young lady.”

“She’s a member of the training team.” Garrison hid a smile. The handsome con man had an eye for the ladies and his tone was one of disbelief seasoned with a hint of envy. He would have relished the opportunity to impress her with his eloquence and charm.

“She’s beautiful,” said Casino softly.

“Stunning.” added Actor, with regret at what he thought of as a stolen opportunity.

The Lieutenant could only agree. The Wren officer was a strikingly attractive young woman. Dark hair framed her classically featured face. Her eyes were large, her complexion flawless and even the severe cut of the naval uniform she wore failed to disguise her shapely figure. Most men looked more than once at Kay Hanley-Fitch.

“Warden, I’ve had an idea,” announced Goniff, drawing Garrison’s and the other men’s attention back to the room. “You’ve been looking tired recently. I think you should stay here.” The blonde paused; a broad grin split his face. “I’ll go with the girl.”

“Thanks, but somehow I don’t think it would work.”

“No ́’arm in tryin?”

The officer shook his head. An awkward silence fell upon the five men. They had worked together for a long time and it seemed strange to take the leader away from his team. Nobody knew what to say, they were all aware of the fact that if Garrison did not come back it would probably mean a return to prison for the four convicts.

“Well fellas, I have to leave.” The Lieutenant glanced at his watch but did not move.

Actor broke the stalemate; stepping forward he offered his hand to the younger man.

“Good luck Warden,” he said simply.

The others followed his lead.

“Warden.” Chief said nothing else but simply nodded his head and then took his seat in the corner of the room again.

“Yeah. See you soon,” added Goniff.

“We’ll be thinking about you having to work with that doll every day, looking at that lovely face, soft hair and deep brown eyes.”

“Shut up mate, you’re makin’ it worse,” groaned the Englishman.

“See you in two weeks.” Garrison said, smiling now at the familiar banter. He picked up his hat and crossed the room; pausing with one hand on the door handle he turned around.

“Casino, there is something you should know before I go – the lady’s eyes are blue.”


	2. Chapter 2

Kay drove The Colonel and the Lieutenant to London, the glorious weather enhanced the beauty of the gently rolling landscape and she was enjoying the drive. Lyle was also satisfied with the way the things were going. He knew his instincts were correct now that he had met the American; he was the right man for this mission and that was the only consideration. Like or dislike did not come into the equation, they were emotional luxuries the Scot knew he could not afford. He turned to the man beside him.

“I expect you would like to know more about your assignment, Lieutenant. Well, as there is no possibility of being overheard here I can give you a few more details. The Germans know we intend to invade Europe this summer, they also know it will probably take place in June or July due to weather, tides and numerous other factors. What they do not, and must not, know is exactly where the attack will take place. Your task is to memorise map references and code words and pass them on to the Resistance. We cannot send the information by radio because we know that some of our transmissions are being intercepted. Strategists could work out where our landings will take place if the co-ordinates fall into the wrong hands. I do not need to tell you how many lives are at stake if something goes wrong.”

Garrison did not answer immediately; for a few moments he watched the English countryside pass the window. Early crops were already pushing through the dark earth and trees were heavy with blossom, it was all so peaceful, a bitter contrast to the carnage that was to be unleashed in Europe during the next few months. He turned and met the clear grey eyes of the Colonel.

“I understand, Sir.”

“Think of it as a jigsaw puzzle, you will have some of the pieces, other agents will have theirs, timings and dates etc. We have to get all those pieces to fit together and at the same time keep them far enough apart to stop the enemy getting the full picture.” Lyle paused, for a fleeting moment he felt uncomfortable under the steady gaze of the junior officer. “You’ve been in this game long enough, I should not insult your intelligence.”

“No offence, Sir.”

“We’re going to one of my London offices now; Kay will drop me and then take you to our establishment in Bedfordshire near Royal Air Force Tempsford. Her tasks are to liaise with me and brief you thoroughly with your cover; you will also have practical training with aircrew from Special Duties Squadron. Then we wait for the ‘moon period’ and just hope to God the weather holds for those two weeks.”

*****

Some hours later the black staff car was threading its way through the Capital, heading north. Colonel Lyle was back at his desk and Garrison had moved to join Kay in the front of the vehicle. He watched her negotiate the buses and taxis in the city with natural ease and then take the car up to speed once they were on the open road. The only other traffic they saw was either military or commercial. The majority of private cars having been laid up ‘for the duration’; few civilians met the strict criteria to receive petrol coupons.

“Do you like driving Miss Hanley-Fitch?”

“Yes I do. My father bought me a car for my twenty first birthday but I was behind a wheel long before that.” She turned and smiled, “Lieutenant, please call me Kay, it’s much simpler and far quicker,” pausing only to overtake a slow moving lorry, she continued, “do you mind if I call you Craig?”

“No, not at all.” He looked at her quizzically.

“Good that makes life much easier. As you know I have to brief you with your cover story so we will be working together until your departure. Your German is excellent but it will be good practice for you if we conduct all our conversations in French for the next few days.”

The importance of the mission far outweighed any need for diplomacy, but she still took the opportunity to steal a glance at the man beside her. His expression was unreadable and if he was offended it did not show.

“I read your dossier.” Added Kay, by way of explanation.

Another glance told her that the American’s expression was now one of mild amusement and for a moment their eyes met. The Wren immediately turned her attention back to the road and looked dead ahead purposely avoiding any further eye contact.

Garrison allowed himself a smile and gazed out of the window. In essence a very private man, he was not sure if he liked the fact that the young woman knew all about him, or thought she did. However the idea appealed to his wry sense of humour and for a few minutes he tried to redress any advantage she may have had by working out what her personal history might be. Wealthy, without doubt, she had the self-assurance of the moneyed class. She had probably never had the need to work until war was declared and her lineage would trace back for centuries. The officer’s thoughts soon turned to more serious matters and the assignment he was about to undertake.

“It is a good idea to speak French,” he said eventually.

Kay looked to her left. The man’s eyes were serious and his jaw set. There was no trace of amusement now.

“I just thought it would help.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before he replied.

“When it comes to survival I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Neither felt the need for further conversation; they were both busy with their own thoughts. The large staff car ate up the miles easily and they were not far away from their destination when Kay’s voice broke the silence.

“Do you have any cigarettes?”

“How do you know I smoke?”

Garrison knew he had not smoked in her presence. The Wren shot her passenger a sideways glance and was relieved to see that he had that rather interesting half smile playing around his lips again.

“Don’t tell me,” he continued before she could say anything else, “it’s in my dossier.”

Kay laughed, took a cigarette from the offered pack and allowed him to light it for her.

“What else is in there?” Garrison’s tone was light.

“Oh just about everything since you joined the Army and a some background information too.”

“Not much then,” said Garrison, after a short pause.

“Enough.”

*****

Kay turned the car off the road and drove down a narrow lane. They would soon be arriving at yet another of the many War Department requisitioned country estates, this one known to those who needed to as ‘The Hall’. Another turn brought them onto an even narrower but well maintained route. The car halted at a well-hidden sentry box; a Royal Marine stepped forward and saluted.

“Good evening Ma’am. Good evening Sir.”

“Good evening Corporal Jenkins how’s the new baby?” Kay handed over her identity card for examination.

“Doing well thank you.”

“What’s his name?”

“David, Ma’am.”

“A good traditional Welsh name.”

“Of course.”

“Please give my regards to Mrs Jenkins.”

“I will. Thank you Ma’am.”

The sentry was pleased the Wren had remembered his new son. Some officers weren’t so bad after all. He moved to the other side of the vehicle and began to inspect the American’s identity card.

Kay took the opportunity to observe the Lieutenant. She could now corroborate the description as stated in his personal file. Fair to dark blonde hair, blue-green eyes, over six feet tall and of good physique. However there was no mention of the disarming intensity of his gaze, or his attractive voice with understated accent and it certainly did not say anything about his dry sense of humour. She smiled to herself as she selected first gear ready to move forwards. The next few days were going to be quite interesting.

*****

Garrison placed his coffee cup on the low table in front of him and looked around the oak panelled room. It was comfortably furnished with chintz covered armchairs and richly coloured rugs. A leather chesterfield took up most of a secluded alcove leaving just enough room for a well-stocked bookcase. Magazines and newspapers lay on another table, a wireless played softly in the background and the lighting was gentle on the eye. It was a room intended for relaxation.

“We’re quite informal here, as you can see.” Kay sank gracefully into an easy chair.

“I expect you are used to this sort of regime though.”

“It’s fairly relaxed at the Mansion, but it’s a little different.”

“Oh your men, I’d quite forgotten, they can’t exactly come and go as they please.”

The American shook his head, but said nothing. She did not need to know that the four convicts had cut through the bars that had covered the window of their room and regularly went to the local village pub for a drink.

“What’s it like working with rogues?” added the young woman.

“Rogues,” Garrison smiled, “that’s the most polite description I’ve heard so far,” he paused and took another drink, “I enjoy the challenge.”

“Do they ever rebel?”

“They try.”

“Oh!”

Kay did not need to ask if they ever succeeded. His change in tone and the determined set of his jaw made her wonder why they even made the attempt. She sat back to savour her after dinner coffee and again ponder Colonel Lyle’s decision to choose the man who now sat opposite rather than one of the others. Was it only that morning she had dismissed the American out of hand? Now she had met him and yet she was still unsure, although she had to confess that she liked him much more than she had expected to. Once again Kay thanked providence that the final choice had not been hers. Finishing her coffee she placed her cup next to Garrison’s.

“It’s been a long day Craig, so if you do not mind I think I’ll go to my room.”

The Lieutenant got to his feet and watched her move towards the door. She turned to face him.

“We’ll start using French tomorrow.”

He held her gaze for a moment then inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Good night,” she said softly.

“Good night Kay.”

*****

Garrison waited. He and two other men were standing together on the edge of a grass airstrip, some six miles away from Tempsford, home to part of the RAF Special Duties Squadron They watched a small speck in the sky enlarge into the recognisable shape of an aircraft; then slowly transform itself into the unmistakable silhouette of a Lysander. Designed as an Army co-operation aeroplane, Special Operations Executive and other organisations had soon realised its potential as a suitable machine for clandestine work. The pilot flew one full circuit, landed and then taxied towards the waiting men. He brought the ‘Lizzie’ to a halt nearby. Bulkier than she looked when airborne, the fuselage and solid fixed undercarriage seemed to be too heavy for her almost delicate dragonfly like wings. The American studied the aircraft with interest.

“Ever flown in one of these kites before?”

“No.”

The Lieutenant shook his head and turned towards the speaker, a tall, slim young man who looked about nineteen years old. Red hair flopped in front of blue eyes; he pushed it back with a movement that would become habit. On his uniform, above his RAF wings he wore the purple and white medal ribbon of the Distinguished Flying Cross.

“Well come on, no time like the present, hop in, by the way, everyone round here calls me Ginge.”

Real names or rank were rarely used, names brought familiarity; familiarity brought emotion and emotion was to be avoided. To the pilots the men and women they trained were simply ‘Joes’, they came in all ages; all shapes and sizes, were all different and were probably all terrified.

Garrison followed the young man to the aircraft and climbed the ladder attached to the port side; this gave access to the rear cockpit. Designed for one person it was hard to imagine that sometimes three had been carried in the tiny space. As instructed the Lieutenant connected the intercom to allow him to hear the pilot. Once Ginge was satisfied that the passenger was safely on board and had no questions he jumped down. Turning back he gave the ‘thumbs up’ signal to the pilot. The aircraft rolled forwards immediately bouncing a little at first, as speed increased the bouncing stopped – they were airborne.

The whole morning was spent perfecting the routine for arrival in, and departure from, enemy territory. Speed was essential, turnarounds had to be fast and less than three minutes was the ideal. Once that timing had been achieved they would train again under the cover of darkness, sometimes the agent’s only true ally.

Garrison was not sorry when the pilot stated that they were on the final approach of the day. They landed and taxied to the ‘reception point’, this time the engine was shut down. The silence and lack of vibration seemed unnatural at first and the two men on board sat still for a few moments trying to accustom themselves to the sudden quiet. The American pushed back the canopy and climbed down the ladder, jumping lightly onto the grass below. He stretched to straighten his spine and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease cramped muscles. He then turned and found himself under the scrutiny of Kay’s blue eyes.

She made to move towards him but was prevented from doing so by the sudden appearance of the young red haired officer again. He ran up to her like a gangling puppy, plunged his hand into the patch pocket of his tunic and produced a small white and gold box.

“For the love of my life.” He said, and with a flourish swept off his battered RAF Field Service Cap to bow before her. The gift lay on his outstretched palm. Kay giggled and took the box.

“Chanel Number 5, how lovely.”

“All that I have is yours.”

Garrison watched the exchange, very much aware that the young man’s tone had become less frivolous. Ginge’s eyes searched the Wren’s face intently but she seemed quite oblivious to his change of mood.

“Thank you Ginger.”

Kay always used the full version of his nickname. She smiled at him, he coloured slightly.

“I won’t be able to bring any more. No more trips to France, I’ve finished my tour”

“Does that mean you will be leaving us?”

“Posted to Fighter Command HQ, they are letting me go solo on a desk I think.”

The flippancy did nothing to disguise his disappointment about leaving his beloved aircraft.

“Good luck. We’ll miss you,” said Kay softly, “take care of yourself.”

She moved closer and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

His colour deepened.

*****

The Wren Officer drove steadily across the grass with Garrison beside her. They passed the RAF truck that had brought the members of the ground crew to the satellite airfield, parked haphazardly alongside it was a sports car finished in British racing green.

“That belongs to Ginger,” explained Kay.

The Lieutenant glanced in the wing mirror; he could see the young man standing with feet apart watching their progress towards the gate. He was still there when the car turned and was presumably out of his line of sight.

“Hard to believe he has made more than twenty five operational flights isn’t it?”

“He doesn’t look old enough to drive.” The American said quietly.

“Too young to vote, but not too young to die.” The woman’s voice was equally quiet.

“Nobody is too young to die in this war.”

Kay did not answer for there were no answers, she concentrated on her driving; carefully negotiating yards of rough track while her passenger gazed out of the window deep in thought.

“He cares for you,” added Garrison.

“Who, Ginger?”

Kay smiled fondly, she knew the pilot was carrying a torch for her but she had done nothing to encourage him. She had her own philosophy about romance during wartime, which was obviously at odds with his.

“He’s very sweet but - .” she paused and turned to her companion. “I don’t get involved. No body gets hurt then.”

“Have you ever been hurt?”

“Me, goodness no!” She was surprised by the familiarity of his question.

“Off duty I lead a very pleasant, uncomplicated existence. I have lots of friends at home and in London and we simply enjoy ourselves while we can.”

Kay paused again; did she have to justify herself to this man?

“I work hard, so I think I deserve some fun too,” her voice softened. “Don’t misunderstand; I’m only too aware of the tragedies of the war. Like millions of others I long for that seemingly elusive time when it’s all over. Meanwhile I live for today, no strings, no commitments, no pain.”

She felt rather that saw his steady gaze and smiled gently.

“Now Lieutenant Garrison you know some of the facts from my dossier.”

*****

“Blimey Actor, Don’t be such a stick in the mud.” Goniff flung his cap onto the table.

“Well stop behaving like children.”

Casino faced the tall Italian; a mischievous grin split his strong features.

“The guy treats us like we’re in Kindergarten, so we behave like we’re in Kindergarten.”

“Do you really think it was funny to lock the Sergeant Major in the basement?”

“Yeah, well it passed an hour or so.” Even Chief felt the need to add his opinion.

“The Warden has only been gone for forty eight hours and you resort to infantile behaviour. It’s going to be a long two weeks.”

The con man glared at his companions with the air of an angry headmaster, his brown-eyes moved slowly from one to another. In response Goniff simply shrugged his shoulders and stared at his feet. Casino turned away and flopped down onto his army issue cot. The American Indian also turned away and without a backwards glance took up his usual position at the window. His ever-watchful dark brown eyes surveyed the scene below; he knew it so well he felt sure he would notice if a single blade of grass were out of place. Actor was right, time was going to drag. Two or three weeks of non-operational tasks seemed to be a waste of a very good team and what were their prospects if the Lieutenant didn’t get back? The four convicts’ private concerns were voiced by Casino.

“What happens to us if Garrison doesn’t make it?”

“Hey! What are you talkin’ like that for? He’s only just gone and anyway he’s got that pretty lady to look after him.”

Goniff knew his friend was suffering from a bad case of lust and did anything he could to annoy him. The jibe was also intended to divert attention from the fact that without their leader the men would probably go back to prison. It was to the Italian-American’s credit that he did not rise to the bait as easily as the blonde had hoped.

“Huh, that guy’s so Army he probably hasn’t noticed her.”

“He might be Army, but he noticed her blue eyes you thought were brown.”

“So did you!”

“We all did!”

Actor had to raise his voice to make himself heard. He looked at Chief who was not quite quick enough to hide his smile. A short silence ensued during which Goniff and Casino refused to look at one another. The tall con man addressed his colleagues.

“The Lieutenant is, as you say Army, but he is also very much a male, I think he will surprise us all one day.”

“Aw, come on you’ll have him married next.”

“Good idea mate.” Goniff instantly recovered his good humour. “We could make a few bob. Let’s make book on it. Five quid says he’s hitched by the end of the year.”

Actor leaned his head back into the winged chair and with a deep sigh closed his eyes. It was going to be a very, very long two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

Kay took a number of envelopes out of her briefcase; she slit the flap of one of them and handed the contents to Garrison. He looked at the papers and for the first time read the name of the man he was to become for a few days if all went well, for the unforeseeable future if it did not.

‘Paul Bassin. Born 14th April 1917, a widower with no children he was a businessman in Rouen now bombed out of home and business as a result of the raid that had killed Madame Bassin. He was now trying to find somewhere to live in order to start a business again.’ Following the basic description were pages of facts.

“There is a lot to learn, Craig.”

The Wren’s French was perfect. He nodded and began to read, as soon as he had finished Kay opened another envelope, a variety of passes and permits slid onto the desk, plus the other paperwork necessary for anybody living in Occupied France. Again she waited for him to familiarise himself with the documentation  
.  
Then came the final envelope, smaller and bulkier than the others it contained a number of personal items including; a man’s wedding ring, a set of rosary beads and a photograph of Lucille, Paul’s dead wife. There was also a necklace containing a lock of hair.

“The French are so romantic.” The young woman’s voice was barely audible.

Garrison touched each of the items lightly, his eyes softened with compassion as he tried to push away the sense of intrusion. The treasured possessions had belonged to real people; they were not merely stage props. He picked up the heavy gold ring and slipped it on; it was a little too large but sat well enough on his finger.

“I’d better get used to it.” He said softly.

*****

The two officers worked steadily, breaking off only to eat. Kay threw question after question at the American, asking them in different ways to make him dredge his memory for forgotten French verbs nouns and adjectives. Slowly an image of Paul Bassin began to form and they had only days to give that image depth and substance. The Lieutenant had to be able to answer immediately if questioned by any of the authorities in France, hesitation could prove fatal.

Much of the information seemed superfluous for a mission that was due to last only a short time, but there was no way of knowing how long the masquerade would have to go on if the plan went wrong. The American had to know Paul as well as he knew himself and Craig Garrison knew himself very well indeed.

The first day set the pattern, practical work with the RAF and study with Kay. In addition to his cover story the officer began to memorise the co-ordinates and code words he would pass on to the Resistance once he had made contact with them in France. No matter what time of day they finished work the papers were resealed and locked away in a safe, in an office where the utilitarian Army furniture tried in vain to compete with carved ceilings, long shuttered windows and the elegance of a room never intended for such use.

Garrison also went back to the satellite airfield at night to practice the arrival and departure routine in the Lysander with the added realism of darkness. Looking up through the Perspex canopy the Lieutenant could see the silver crescent of the moon, getting larger night after night. The assignment would take place sometime during the week before or the week after the full moon. Time for preparation was running out.

*****

Kay kicked off her shoes and sat down on the deeply upholstered chair, the leather creaked comfortably as she settled back. She had been working hard and felt justifiably tired. It was sheer bliss to be able to relax for a few minutes. The gentle tick of a clock was the only noise in the small study. The young woman listened to its steady rhythm; it was a soothing sound, she sighed, was the clock getting quieter? She felt herself gradually slipping into the luxury of a five-minute nap.

Suddenly the demanding ring of the telephone shattered her peace. She jumped out of the chair and with thudding heart headed across the room to deal with the unwelcome intrusion.

“Second Officer Hanley-Fitch,” her reply was sharper than intended.

“Kay.” The voice was instantly recognisable.

“Colonel Lyle.” She winced and moderated her tone. “Good evening Sir.”

“How are you Hen?”

“I’m well thank you.” The woman smiled at the Scottish term of endearment he had inadvertently allowed to slip out.

“Do you think you need any more time?”

“No, Sir. We’ve covered everything, the Lieutenant is ready.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear, because he goes out within the next few days.”

The Wren’s fatigue was quickly forgotten, swept away by the colonel’s news. She took a number of further instructions from her superior completely unaware that she was holding her breath.

“That’s all for now, I want you to come back to London tomorrow, Mac is expecting you at ‘Ashley’s’, you both deserve some free time in Town. Well done.”

“Thank you Sir.” Kay replaced the receiver slowly and let out her breath with a soft sigh. Time for preparation had run out.

*****

“I’m telling you we should just get outta here.” 

Casino’s dark eyes darted from Actor to Goniff then to Chief who was in his usual place by the window. His colleagues remained silent, they all knew he had lost patience with their imposed inactivity during Garrison’s absence. The training regime was a total irrelevance as far as Casino was concerned; he had become tired of baiting the Sergeant Major and even refused to sneak out with the others for a beer at the local pub.

“Come on mate. The Warden will be back soon.” Goniff’s blue eyes clouded with concern as he tried to pacify his friend.

“Sure he will.” Sarcasm dripped from every word; the man paused as his eyes scanned the three faces before him.

“What if Garrison is good at whatever it is the Limey’s want him to do? They might keep him and what if he doesn’t make it back? If you ask me we are surplus to requirements already.” He paused again, waiting for some form of reaction from the others, but there was none. “Okay, I’m going with or without you.”

A deep frown furrowed the Englishman’s brow, he looked at Actor for guidance; the Italian had become the unofficial second in command as far as the convicts were concerned. As usual the older man gave no sign of his inner thoughts or feelings, his voice was calm and without emotion when he spoke.

“How do you propose to survive?”

“My brains and Uncle Sam’s training that’s how.”

“You don’t have an Identity Card, or a Ration Book. This isn’t Chicago or New York; you have no friends or family to help you. The authorities will pick you up just like that!” Actor snapped his elegant fingers to emphasise his point. “You’ll go straight back to Leavenworth, no parole, nothing. The work you have done here with the Lieutenant will have been a waste of time.”

“I’m wasting time now. I can look after myself. I don’t need anyone else.”

“You’re wrong Buddy.” Chief turned from the window and pinned his gaze onto Casino. “We all need someone.”

The silence that followed was almost deafening, the Native American rarely said anything about personal feelings, preferring to keep such thoughts to himself. Actor and Goniff exchanged a look of surprise but the stocky safe-cracker met Chief’s dark eyes defiantly.

“Well I am going anyway. You’re all heading straight back to stir and you’ll be there quicker that I will.”

The other men looked at each other; the Indian gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and with an inward sigh, turned back to the view from the window. Actor returned to his book, with Casino in this mood he knew there was no point in trying to reason with him. Goniff shrugged his shoulders, picked up a deck of cards and began to play Solitaire in a vain attempt to hide his unease. He tried to push the whole conversation from his mind. There was always the chance his friend would not go through with his threat – wasn’t there?

*****

During the early hours of the following morning Casino slipped out of his army cot. He was already partially dressed, having left more clothing and a small bag hidden elsewhere in the mansion. He had been planning his escape for a couple of days. He knew the others thought he was crazy to try but he didn’t care. The army could not be trusted and this might be the break he needed, he smiled at the irony of the thought. To the accompaniment of the deep, regular breathing of his companions he padded towards the door, carrying his shoes in his left hand. Pausing only briefly to listen for any movement in the corridor outside he took hold of the door handle.

Chief had heard the safe-cracker, despite the man’s attempt to move quietly; his brown eyes followed the progress of his colleague’s darker form across the darkened room. The Indian lay still, aware of the faint click of the latch as the door opened. In the distance a clock chimed, half past the hour, by the time the chimes had faded away Casino had slipped out into the corridor and the door was closed. The younger man turned onto his back, sighed and wondered if this escape attempt would jeopardise the future for all four of them, their paroles quashed because of the actions of one man, if those paroles really were going to be given. Silently he wished the fugitive luck, then closed his eyes and slept.

The escapee moved quickly and quietly to a small storeroom where he retrieved his hidden clothing and finished dressing. His plan was simple, to get as far away from the mansion as he could, as quickly as possible. Lifts and free travel were easier to get when in uniform. He’d just have to stay out of the way of the Military Police. He smoothed down his tunic, folded his Field Service Cap flat and placed it in his bag. Still carrying his shoes he stepped out into the corridor again.

Goniff yawned, only partially awake he shuffled out of the room, his bed had cried out to him to stay but nature’s call had been louder and had to be answered. He tottered along the passageway, heading back to his warm cot. Clad in baggy khaki shorts and army issue green vest, his fair hair was sleep ruffled and his eyes mere slits. He looked more like a six year old than a grown man to whom life had not always dealt a good hand. He automatically turned right and collided with someone coming in the opposite direction, before he could utter a sound a strong hand clamped down over his mouth.

“It’s me, Casino!” The assailant hissed, then dropped his hand while Goniff shook his head and steadied himself against the wall.

“Blimey mate; you nearly gave me a ruddy heart attack!”

“Yeah well, I couldn’t risk any noise.”

“You’re goin’ through with it then?

“It’s my only chance.” There was a short silence. “You understand Goniff?”

The blonde nodded, though he was not convinced that he did understand. He ran tired fingers through tousled hair and his blue eyes met the dark brown of his colleague and friend. Uncertain of what he should do or say next he simply extended his hand. Casino took it in his own, his grip firm, it was the handshake of a strong friendship.

“Good luck, mate.”

“You too, Limey.”

*****

‘Ashley’s’ was a beautifully proportioned town house overlooking a tree-lined square in a select area of London. The owner had converted the house into a series of small but luxurious apartments, each completely self-contained. On the ground floor, however, there was a communal area, comprising of a sitting room, a well-stocked library with study, and a dining room with a view of a well-tended walled garden. A resident housekeeper had been employed to attend to the needs of the wealthy tenants. The property had been a prime target for government requisition and had been handed over to the Intelligence Services for their use quite early on in the war.

Angus McNeil and his sister Jean were now responsible for the day-to-day running of the property. ‘Mac’ had served as Colonel Lyle’s batman and on release from the army was employed on his estate in Scotland; Jean was a very good cook who worked alongside her brother for his former Commanding Officer. Lyle brought the couple to London to take up their present positions knowing them to be discreet, and completely trustworthy.

Although the house was within minutes of bustling city streets it had an atmosphere of quiet calm and serenity, it was an ideal place for relaxation or recuperation. ‘Ashley’s’ was made available to Intelligence personnel for periods of leave after missions or to give departing agents time in Town before they went overseas. It was time for indulgence; time for them to enjoy some of the long forgotten luxuries no longer available to the majority of the British public. For many of the guests the days spent in the house would be their last memories of London and those memories had to be good for they might have to sustain them for a long time and for some, eternity.

Kay took a sip of gin and tonic; ice tinkled musically against the heavy crystal as she placed her glass on the dressing table and continued to get ready to go out. Wearing only a pretty lace-trimmed brassiere and panties she picked up the gold and white box presented to her by Ginger and stroked Chanel Number 5 onto her wrists, behind her ears and between her breasts. It was wonderful to take time over her preparations for the evening, no need to rush her bath, as she would have done at the ‘Wrennery’, no need to hurry to the ablution corridor to get to the washbasins first. Service life even as an officer had taught her to appreciate the luxury of privacy.

Humming the tune ‘Serenade in Blue’ to herself, with great care the young woman smoothed on a precious pair of nylon stockings and smiled fondly at her memories of the Lieutenant Commander who had given them to her. Their three-month affair had been fun, no ties, no promises, exactly the kind of relationship Kay enjoyed. Still smiling she padded across the room, took her dress from its hanger and slipped it over her head. The soft jersey moulded to her figure and she knew the china blue would enhance the colour of her eyes and the glossy sheen of her dark hair. She turned in front of the full-length mirror, relishing the sensual caress of soft, feminine fabrics against her skin, instead of the crisp efficiency of starched cotton and navy blue suiting.

*****

Garrison shrugged into his Eisenhower Jacket, adjusted his shirt cuffs and checked that the knot in his tie sat neatly against his collar. Picking up his hat, with hair still damp from the shower, he left his own apartment and went down two flights of stairs. He paced slowly around the hallway, pausing occasionally to check the time on the gold watch he wore low on his left wrist, a personal item that would soon be taken from him and exchanged for one of French origin. He then moved into the library and sat on one of the leather Chesterfields, the softly lit room held an air of calm but he found no ease. Adrenaline rushes were becoming more frequent as his mission drew near; recognising his restlessness for what it was he went back to the hall to wait for Kay. She had suggested that they went out to dinner and he was happy to go along with her idea; solitude was not always welcome.

*****

“Kay, it is you! I haven’t seen you for ages!”

The Wren officer looked up to see a tall blue-eyed blonde approaching the table she was sharing with Garrison, Phillipa Cardew was an old friend from her boarding school days.

“You are going to introduce us aren’t you?”

The newcomer smiled sweetly at the American who was already on his feet, she half turned to her own escort, a Captain in the Grenadier Guards.

“Freddy, do be a dear and arrange to get some more chairs. You don’t mind if we join you? How are you? Did you know Anne Palmer got married last month? Are your parents well?”

Reeling under the verbal bombardment, Kay made the necessary introductions and shot a helpless look at the Lieutenant who was trying hard to hide his amusement.

“We won’t be long gentlemen; we need to powder our noses.”

The blonde gave a firm tug on her friend’s sleeve and whisked her away to the ladies powder room. She rushed inside, checked that they were alone then stood with her back against the door facing Kay who watched the performance completely bemused.

“It is so good to see you again,” said Phillipa eventually, “now tell me where have you been hiding him? I want to know everything. Who is he? How old is he and when did you break you rule about married men? I noticed his wedding ring Kay; I thought the married ones were strictly off limits.”

“Do you ever pause to take a breath Pip?” Asked the Wren calmly and then laughed at the stunned expression on the other’s face. “You never change do you?” She added kindly and gave her friend an affectionate hug. “The Lieutenant is merely a colleague.”

“A colleague! How do you manage to get colleagues like that? I end up with dull, dull Freddy Marshall.”

“He looks rather nice.”

“Mmm, I suppose he is really. It’s The Honourable Freddy Marshall actually and that’s the trouble, he’s a bit too honourable.”

She gave such a heavy sigh Kay could not help smiling.

“Anyway, never mind me, I want to know all about you and that American, my goodness he fills that uniform well. Are you and he – well you know?”

“Really Miss Cardew. What did they teach you at finishing school?” Kay feigned shock at the intimacy of the question.

“You’d be surprised Sweetie, but don’t play the innocent with me, just remember that I know you too well.” The blonde’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “By the way, you have just turned the most delicious shade of rose pink.”

The Wren chose to ignore the last remark even though she could feel her cheeks starting to flush a little. Within seconds her companion was in full flow again.

“Look we’ll leave you two alone. I’ll dash back and tell Freddy I’ve forgotten that we’ve been invited to a party tonight. Who knows? Maybe I can persuade him to become the Dis-honourable Freddy Marshall.”

The young woman kissed her friend on the cheek and winked.

“Have fun Kay, I know I would.”

With that Phillipa Cardew was gone. The dark haired Wren sat down heavily on one of the plush topped dressing stools, she felt as though she had just survived the passing of a minor whirlwind. Catching sight of her own reflection in the mirror she shook her head slowly and smiled.

“They had to leave.” Garrison drew a chair out for Kay as she returned to the table.

“I know, I am dreadfully sorry about all that.” She said as he took his seat again. “Pip’s an old friend and rather excitable but once you get to know her…..”

“Don’t worry about it.” There was a short but comfortable silence. “Would you care to dance?”

“Yes, I’d love to.”

Picking her way between the tables the young woman lead the way to the small dance floor, then turned to face her partner. The Lieutenant took her in his arms, holding her gently and very correctly, neither too close nor too far apart. He danced surprisingly well and they stayed on the floor much longer that she had expected to. The tempo, never fast, became even slower as the evening wore on and Kay could not deny the sharp stab of envy she felt when she saw couples who had the right to do so, move closer together and allow themselves to be drawn into the softly sung and gently seductive lyrics of ‘The Nearness of You’.

*****

Casino stomped along the path, with shoulders hunched and hands thrust deep into his pockets. His escape plan had not gone well and his temper, never too far from the surface showed every sign of breaking through. Suddenly an almighty roar reached the safe-cracker's ears.

“You ’orrible man. Get your ’ands out of your pockets or I’ll make you sew ’em up!”

Disobeying the command he continued to stomp along, his jaw working angrily in fury. He refused to turn at the sound of running feet and ignored the man who fell into step beside him.

“Well, what do you think of my Sergeant Major impersonation?” Goniff bounced along next to his colleague. “You ’orrible man!” He repeated, but there was no reaction, just a heavy silence. “Come on mate, it was just a joke.”

“Some joke Limey.”

The two men walked on for a while. Casino completely immersed in his misery and the other at a loss over how to cheer up his friend. Eventually the Englishman spoke.

“What made you stay?”

The dark haired man stopped dead. How could he tell Goniff that their meeting in the corridor had been partially responsible for his change of heart? How could he admit that friendship, belonging and being part of a team all mattered now? He was Casino the cynic, Casino the tough guy, Casino who didn’t need anyone else, wasn’t he? How could he admit to his colleagues that he was now Casino the changed man when he’d only just admitted it to himself?

“Drop it will ya?” he snarled, “Just accept the fact I’m back.”

“Back! You never went.”

The Italian-American grabbed Goniff’s arm and spun him round like a rag-doll, angry dark eyes blazed into unwavering blue innocence. He then realised he was about to yell at his friend for nothing. The blonde had obviously kept silent about their nocturnal meeting. He loosened his grip, unsure now of what to say or do, to cover his uncertainty he took out his cigarettes and offered one to the Englishman.

“I’m glad you didn’t go.” Goniff drew deeply on his Lucky Strike. “Well, it wouldn’t have been the same would it?”

“You two men!” The Sergeant Major’s voice boomed across the lawn. “Get fell in. Now!”

Casino cursed under his breath, his eyes turned heavenwards and then back to meet those of his friend, he grinned broadly.

“Ya know something Goniff? Your impersonation of him is better than him.”

The Londoner grinned back but there was no chance to reply.

“I said get fell in NOW.”

*****

Actor glanced at his watch, 21.45 hours; he’d made good progress with his book and had thought it was much later. He filled his pipe and applied a match the room was uncharacteristically quiet. There had been no suggestion of a visit to the pub and no arguments; in fact it had been a very pleasant evening. However, he was aware that something had happened, something hard to define but there none the less, the atmosphere was different. His brown eyes scanned the room.

Goniff was sitting at a small card table, a cigarette dangled between his lips and a frown of concentration furrowed his brow. Unaware of being observed he flipped the next card, grinned and moved the red seven onto the black eight. He busied himself with a few more moves then went back to flipping cards from the deck.

Chief had taken the comfortable wing chair in the corner instead of his usual position near the window. He also wore a look of concentration, but not about the turn of a card, his dark eyes studied the chessboard in front of him. He looked up briefly, aware of Actor’s scrutiny and then returned to his strategy. The Italian was almost certain that Chief had an idea about what was going on but was keeping it to himself as usual.

Casino lay back on his cot, one arm tucked comfortably behind his head. He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it rise to the ceiling; he repeated the trick, completely at ease and quite content.

‘Content! That was it!’ Actor stopped himself sitting bolt upright. ‘When had Casino ever been content?’ The man griped, moaned and argued; he constantly told Garrison that he would get them all killed and doubted anything to do with the military, but now he was lying on his bunk, calm and relaxed, the epitome of contentment. Maybe that was the change, the difference. The older man drew on his pipe and wondered if he should ask Chief if he did know what had happened. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an opening door.

Sergeant Major Cobb hesitated for a moment and then stepped into the room.

“Colonel Yates sent me. He wants you to know that the Lieutenant has completed the training successfully and he will be going on the mission.

Garrison’s men exchanged looks then turned to Cobb.

“When?” Asked Actor.

“The Colonel has not been informed. He just thought……”

“So he may have gone already?” Casino, who was now on his feet, did not let the soldier finish; his dark eyes targeted the messenger.

“Possibly,” Cobb shrugged, “we have no more details.” He turned to go and then faced the four convicts again. “Look,” his tone was unusually sympathetic, “if I find out, I’ll let you know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Garrison gazed out of the window overlooking the elegant square. Mellow evening sunlight dappled the pavement with ever changing patterns. A gentle breeze ruffled blossom-laden trees and their tiny petals fluttered to the ground like rose tinted snow. It was a glorious end to a glorious day. A day when the war seemed a long way away, but that was nothing more than self-deception. The Lieutenant knew the war had become part of him, as much as he had become part of the war; inseparable until it was all over, one way or another.

Tie less, with his shirtsleeves rolled up for comfort, he ran his hand slowly along his forearm, soothing the taut muscles beneath his skin. Paul Bassin’s wedding ring caught the light; but he needed no reminders of the man he would soon become. He was to report to RAF Tangmere the next day. Weather forecasts, now secret and no longer broadcast to the nation were good, clear skies and light winds at the destination for the next thirty-six hours.

He had not seen Kay all day; she seemed to sense his need for solitude now he had been informed of his departure date, she knew her job well and he was grateful for that. The officer had spent the day quietly, taking time to write a report about his four men and a personal request to Colonel Yates, asking him to ensure they would still get their paroles, as agreed, should he fail to return from this solo mission. The intensity of the training had pushed their needs to the back, but never out, of Garrison's mind, he wanted to have someone prepared to speak for them if necessary and the Colonel was the obvious choice. He had also written three letters, letters that would be destroyed upon his safe return and letters that were becoming increasingly difficult to write. With every new assignment Garrison became more aware of his own mortality, aware that the odds for survival were stacking against him. Surrounded by death he wanted to live, but his unerring sense of duty drove him to do whatever he had to for an Allied victory over Nazism. If his own death was the price, so be it, he was a soldier and soldiers die in war. With a deep breath he turned away from the tranquility of the scene outside and moved back to the desk, picking up his pen he began to write his fourth and most difficult letter of all.

*****

Kay eased back into the generously cushioned sofa in her apartment; she had slipped off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her. The bright spring day had faded into a cool night and the only sound in the room was the crackling of the small fire that ‘Mac’ had lit in the grate before dinner. She studied Garrison through lowered lashes, he had loosened his tie and turned back his shirt cuffs, his legs were stretched out before him and he held a glass of whisky in his right hand. He seemed to be reasonably relaxed, all things considered.

The Wren had been an escorting officer for more than a dozen agents now and they all wanted to spend their time at ‘Ashley’s’ differently. Some wanted noise, the hustle and bustle of London by day and by night, some wanted peace and quiet, content to read or go for long walks, and some just wanted to pray. Only God and the individuals concerned knew what went through their minds during their last hours in England.

The Lieutenant’s expression gave no hint of his thoughts or feelings as the time for his own flight into Occupied Europe drew near but Kay was aware of a palpable tension beneath his outwardly calm appearance. When he was not gazing into the flames curling around the logs, his blue-green eyes sought the ornate mantle clock or his gold watch.

“Time seems to stand still doesn’t it?” She tried to sound matter of fact and businesslike, as she also watched the second hand dragging itself around the clock face.

“The waiting is the worst part sometimes.”

“Is there anything you want to ask or need to clarify?”

After a moment’s hesitation the American nodded his head.

“There is something Kay, but it’s personal, not operational.” He paused briefly, then continued, his voice quiet and composed. “In my room there is an envelope addressed to Colonel Yates, it contains a document for him and letters for my family - in case I don’t get back. Will you take care of it?”

“Leave it to me.” She replied with understanding, it was a task she had done before and hoped fervently that she would not have to do it for the man who sat beside her now. “I’ll make sure he gets it, if necessary. Is there anything else?”

“No, nothing.” Garrison shook his head once and drained his glass.

“Another drink?”

“No, thank you.”

He watched her get up and cross the room to refresh her own glass and then went to join her at the drinks tray. She turned and looked up at him.

“Kay, I may not have chance tomorrow, I want thank you now for all you have done.” 

She smiled gently and inclined her head in acknowledgement, not really trusting herself to answer. He checked his watch again.

“It’s getting late; I should go and get some rest.”

Her blue eyes searched his face and she could feel her heart hammering hard against her rib-cage when she eventually met and held his steady gaze. Neither moved nor spoke until the young woman broke the long and highly charged silence. Her words were barely audible.

“You don’t have to be alone tonight Craig.” Garrison was close enough to smell her perfume and see the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. He remembered only too well the touch of her hand, the way her body moved and how it had felt to hold her when they had danced together the previous evening. She placed her hand lightly on his chest.

“Stay here with me.”

He continued to look into her eyes and knew instinctively that although there had been other lovers, this was the first time she had ever asked someone to spend the night with her at ‘Ashley’s’. She was offering what could be his last chance to sense the softness of a woman’s skin next to his, to feel a woman respond to his touch and to experience the fulfilment of the most basic of human needs. He could stay with her; fall asleep with her in his arms and then wake in the morning with her body curled against his, or he could spend, what would probably be, a very long and lonely night alone. She wasn’t offering love, just warmth, human comfort and the satisfaction of sexual desire. There would be no strings and no promises; there could be no commitment.

“You are a very beautiful woman Kay. We shouldn’t have any regrets.”

“Regret is the last thing on my mind.” She whispered, very much aware of firm muscle and the strong steady beat of his heart, against the palm of her hand. “I know I won’t have any.” Her fingers found the chain of his dog tags and she began to trace its path through the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Maybe you wouldn’t,” he shook his head slowly, “but I would.”

A tiny frown creased the Wren’s brow and she tipped her head to one side in puzzlement at his softly spoken refusal. It took only seconds for her to reason why.

“You have someone waiting for you in America?”

“No, there’s nobody back home,” his tone softened, “but there is a very special lady here in England, about forty miles away.”

The tension between them snapped instantly as Kay began to laugh. It was a warm, throaty laugh and for a moment it was the American who looked puzzled.

“There’s nothing in your dossier about that! You’ve covered your tracks well.”

“All down to good training.” Amusement danced in his eyes, then faded away as he bent his head to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “If circumstances were different Kay, I’d......”

She placed her fingertips against his lips to stop him saying more.

“You are a man of honour, Craig Garrison. She’s a very lucky girl.”

The Lieutenant’s eyes grew distant; he looked past Kay and beyond. A tender and very intimate smile touched his lips.

“I’m the one who’s lucky,” he said quietly.

*****

Kay had spent the last few hours at RAF Tangmere watching the intelligence staff strip away the outer shell of Lieutenant Craig Garrison, United States Infantry and replace it with the outer shell of Paul Bassin French businessman. The American’s uniform and dog tags had been taken from him and his dark blonde hair cut in a French style. He had been given suitably aged French clothes and his rather elegant gold watch had been replaced by one of a much more basic design with a leather strap. A well-worn wallet held French Francs, his new but seemingly well-used identity card and all the other papers necessary for living in Occupied France. The necklace containing the lock of hair and a few personal photographs were in the inside pocket of his suit, next to his heart. Every trace of America and England had been removed; everything had been checked and then double-checked for incriminating evidence. A forgotten match-book, a coin or even a bus ticket could give the game away.

Tangmere Cottage stood opposite the gates of the airfield; it had been taken over by the Intelligence Services and was the place where agents waited until their flights were ready to go. Kay and Garrison had walked in silence to a downstairs room at the end of the hallway in the cottage, with his transformation complete and final briefings finished the Lieutenant had just one more person to see, the Medical Officer who would be responsible for the issue of a suicide pill, should the American choose to carry one.

Kay now parked the car in her usual place, just off the taxiway on the far side of the airfield. She got out, leaned back against the bonnet and lit a cigarette. It had become part of her routine to wait here and watch the Special Duties flights depart. The people on board could not possibly know that she was there but she felt this small act of farewell marked the end of her escort duty, allowing her to close one chapter before moving on to another. She exhaled slowly; her breath hung in the chill night air for a moment and then dispersed. Somewhere in the darkness an aircraft engine was running, she would not have long to wait.

The young woman always experienced the same mix of emotions as the minutes passed, moments of elation when she was certain the missions would go well, quickly followed by a sense of foreboding when she was sure they would fail. Her demons were still fighting each other when a small but very distinctive aircraft flew low overhead in sharp silhouette against the moonlit sky. Kay’s blue eyes tracked the Lysander until she disappeared from view and the sound of her engine had faded away, blanketed first and then swallowed by the silence of the night.

*****

Garrison looked down on a moonlit ribbon of silver stretching away into the distance below. The Lysander pilot was navigating his way across France by rivers, roads and other landmarks, his aircraft was unarmed, he could not make radio contact with base and he had no fighter escort. It would take old-fashioned map reading, a little bit of luck and, although he would deny it, a lot of guts to get his two passengers to the landing ground that night. The Lieutenant’s companion in the cramped cabin was a Frenchman, they had spoken to each other for the first part of the journey but the man had fallen silent as he watched his Nazi Occupied homeland pass by beneath the tiny aircraft.

They flew along the course of the river for another five minutes, then the world tipped sideways as the pilot made a starboard turn away from what appeared to be a large town, and therefore the danger of anti-aircraft guns a little further upstream. He then followed the route of a road before turning again and heading out over open countryside. Small villages, chateaux and wooded areas blended into a patchwork of deep blue and grey tones while lakes, rivers and streams shimmered in the pale light of the moon.

The American became aware that they were losing height, then on the port side of the aircraft he caught a glimpse of a pinpoint of light signalling the letter J in Morse code from the ground. The pilot would only land if the coded letter were correct. Suddenly three lights came on forming the shape of an inverted letter ‘L’; this symbol marked the place where they would land, using the longer leg of the ‘L’ for direction. The two passengers prepared themselves for the landing as the pilot turned the aircraft into wind and began his approach. The wheels hit the ground and they bumped uncomfortably across the field, then with a neat one hundred and eighty degree turn they taxied back to the reception point, another turn about and the aircraft was facing the right way for take off.

The well-rehearsed arrival routine began, the Frenchman was first out, Garrison handed down their luggage, then took luggage from the returning passenger and placed it in the cabin, before climbing down himself. A slightly built woman took his place on the ladder; soon to be on her way back to England. Her tired but relieved eyes met his briefly and her fingers brushed his forearm with a passing touch of encouragement as she climbed into the cabin. The Lieutenant’s travel companion gave the pilot the ‘thumbs up’ signal, and yelled the ‘OK’. Without hesitation the throttle was opened, the engine note changed and the Lysander bounced away to head for home, the turnaround had taken under three minutes.

Shadows moved forwards and became solid forms. The two agents went to meet their reception committee and were ushered away from the field immediately, it was not safe to linger. Garrison guessed that the Frenchman was a radio operator judging by the weight of his suitcase, but it was something he did not need to know. They would be staying in different safe houses and it was unlikely they would ever meet again. The men shook hands and wished each other good luck before following their respective guides into the unknown of Occupied France.

*****

“Give 'em back Limey.”

“Wot?”

“My cards, you stole my deck.”

“I never did.”

“Don’t give me that.”

Casino advanced on Goniff who was playing Solitaire, the blonde jumped up as his associate closed in on him. In his haste to escape his chair tipped over and the playing cards scattered all over the floor. The wiry blonde skittered away sideways and swiftly palmed the deck he really had stolen onto the top of a bookcase.

“I don’t have them.” He said in all honesty. “Anyway what’s a deck of cards, or are they special ones? You know the ones with certain marks on them?” 

"Ha! That’s his game.” The safe-cracker jerked his thumb towards Actor in reply to the taunt. 

The tall Italian simply raised an eyebrow in response and continued to read. Peace and tranquility had not reigned for long in the aftermath of Casino’s aborted escape but most of the time the banter was good humoured. The older man acknowledged the subtle changes that had taken place in his feisty colleague since they had started to work with Garrison, but still had no idea why the man had decided not to try to break out after all.

“Give ’em back.” Casino lunged at Goniff, and grabbed the front of his shirt; for once the Englishman had not been quick enough to avoid capture. “You lousy crumb, give me…”

The sight that greeted him did not impress Sergeant Major Cobb.

“What’s goin’ on now?” He yelled from the door of the convicts’ room.

“A few high spirits, that’s all.” Actor said calmly without raising his head from his book.

Chief, who had been watching everything, hid his smile behind his hand and pretended to study his chessboard in silence.

“High spirits is for officers only – you lot are just – er….”

“What?” The safe-cracker let go of Goniff and turned angry eyes to the man in the doorway.

“You’re ….” Cobb wracked his brain for a word and although plenty of rude ones came to mind he chose another, “unruly,” he finished lamely.

The men looked at one another, Casino and Goniff laughed out loud and without being told began to tidy up the cards and chair. Actor and Chief merely smiled at the expense of their visitor.

“Anyway, I’ve been sent by Colonel Yates.” The smiles and laughter soon faded as the man continued. “Lieutenant Garrison has gone to France.”

“When?” Actor, his attention now entirely focused on the British soldier, asked the question but did not expect much in reply.

“I don’t know.” Four pairs of eyes had homed in on Cobb. There wasn’t a movement in the room. “Look you know the score. We don’t have any more information, the Colonel just wanted to pass on what he does know.” Again the man’s tone held sympathy. 

“Thank you for telling us.” The con-man voiced their appreciation. The Sergeant Major’s gaze fell on each of the men in turn, he nodded once and left the room without further comment.

Nobody moved or said anything for a long minute. It was Chief who broke away first wordlessly taking his usual place by the window; Goniff sat down at the card table again but made no attempt to play. Casino wandered over to the bookcase, picked up the deck of cards he found there and went and sat on the edge of his cot without comment. Actor’s book remained unread as his thoughts turned first to Garrison and secondly to the uncertainty of their future if the Lieutenant failed to return.

*****

Daylight filtered through the wooden shutters of the tiny top floor bedroom in the French farmhouse. Garrison opened his eyes and the tension of the previous night came straight back, hitting him hard with a stomach wrenching jolt. He knew it would underlie every waking moment until his mission was complete. He stretched slowly and tried to allow his muscles to relax against the luxury of soft cotton sheets. A glance at his watch told him it was 07.00, reluctantly he swung his legs to the floor and ran a hand across his face – he needed a shave. Then he froze, his body tensed, his breathing halted as his heightened senses picked up the sound of movement outside the door.

“I have some hot water for you Paul.”

It was the voice of Yves, the eldest son of the owner of the safe house and one of his reception committee last night. A smile flickered across the American’s lips and he relaxed, someone must have read his mind. Clad in only a pair of shorts he padded across the room to open the door.

“Thank-you, come in.”

The dark haired, almond-eyed young man entered carrying a large jug of water, he had a towel draped over his arm and put both items on the washstand next to a bowl that matched the jug.

"Breakfast is ready for you. I will explain our plan once you have eaten.” With a slight nod he left.

The Lieutenant washed, shaved and dressed, then made his way downstairs into the farmhouse kitchen. The scrubbed pine table was set for one, Chantal, the farmer’s wife invited him to sit and presented him with a cup of milky coffee and freshly baked bread. While he ate she chattered about the weather and the farm as though he were just a normal house-guest and not someone whose presence could get her and her family killed if the Germans discovered they had any involvement with the Resistance. He could not fail to admire her sense of calm and the matter of fact way she got on with her chores. The French had lived under the Occupation of the Nazis for four years; it was the bravery of families such as hers that would help the Allied cause. Hopefully with his help and that of many others their Occupation would soon be at an end. Garrison had just finished eating when Yves came into the kitchen with a basket of eggs; he placed it on the table and motioned for the American to go outside with him, they walked towards a nearby paddock.

“Maman does not need to hear our arrangements.” The younger man paused for a moment and leaned his arms on the top of the fence before he continued. “I am not your contact Paul. I know it is a man and you are to meet him at Café Fleur on the main square in town, he will invite you to play chess and insist you play the white pieces. The meeting should take place before noon today; but if he does not arrive you will come back here and try again tomorrow. I have some deliveries to make so I will be your driver.”

Garrison nodded his understanding of the plan and felt his stomach twist in anticipation of the day and its outcome, whatever that might be.

*****

Colonel Yates was at his desk, the habitual cigar clamped between his lips. He shook his head for the umpteenth time that day.

“Why in God’s name choose Garrison? I’ve not only lost the Lieutenant. It’s a total waste of a damn good team and what the hell do I do with those cons of his for the rest of the war if he doesn’t make it back?

Major Johns raised an eyebrow, but remained silent for a minute. He’d questioned the wisdom of using convicts behind enemy lines and did not like the fact that Garrison’s charges lived in comparative luxury at the mansion while real soldiers had to endure life in huts or under canvas. The Major did not like the Lieutenant and he knew it was only military discipline and respect for rank that saved him from the full wrath and contempt of the younger man. However over the months he had to admit that the five men had become, as his commanding officer said, ‘a damn good team’. He wanted to say that the only option was that the convicts went back to prison but Yates wasn’t in the mood to hear that and Major Johns knew better than to voice his opinion at that moment. He would save that particular suggestion for another occasion if the need arose.

“I don’t know Sir.” He replied eventually. It wasn’t an answer but Yates seemed to be satisfied with it and continued to question the man.

“Are they giving Sgt. Major Cobb any trouble?”

“No Sir, not now. There were a few stupid pranks at first but they seem to have stopped. Actor has assumed the role of ‘second in command’ in Garrison’s absence.” Johns did not like using a military term to describe the situation but could think of no other. “Cobb is also concerned that their ‘talents’ are being wasted but he is trying to keep them busy.”

There was a silence as the Colonel chewed thoughtfully on his cigar and considered the facts he had. Suddenly he sat forward banging the palms of his hands on his desk.

“We got the Lieutenant’s dossier back didn’t we?”

“Yes Sir.” Johns sat bolt upright in his chair. “The dossier is in your safe, there is also a sealed document for yourself and the letters he has written to send to his family.”

Yates looked sternly at his subordinate; he didn’t need another reminder about his task in the event of the younger officer’s death. He hated having to send out those final very personal letters his men wrote to their loved ones because he had to write an accompanying letter to assure the grieving family that their loss was ‘for a grateful nation in the defeat of evil’ or other standard phrases. How could he say that ‘they met their death with courage’ when he didn’t know what the hell had happened to them? He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts and to move to action. He slapped his hand on the desk again.

“Get me the dossier, Walt. First I’m going to read it from cover to cover and see if I can find out why they chose Garrison. Then I’m going to go to London and speak to Colonel Lyle so get me an appointment.” 

Major Johns was on his feet and already heading for the door when he heard the Colonel’s final comment on the subject.

“Damn Limeys!”


	5. Chapter 5

Garrison walked towards the main square of the town, neither too quickly nor too slowly, he had to blend in with everyone else, just going about their every day business. He carried a small suitcase containing clothing and a few personal items, he was not armed, if anything went wrong he would have to rely on his wits to get out of it, he had no immediate back up, he was on his own. Cafe Fleur came into view, slightly tattered, sun faded, once bright red canopies fluttered above the windows in the fresh breeze, four tables with mismatched chairs sat unevenly on the pavement outside. The Lieutenant went inside and automatically chose a seat at a table that would give him a good view of the door and easy access to the front or back of the cafe should he need to get out in a hurry. The coffee he was served was real, not ersatz, surprised, he savoured the flavour as any other Frenchman would and waited.

Ten minutes passed, the door rattled open, two elderly ladies and a middle aged man entered, all obviously regular customers. The ladies moved to a corner table and began to chat immediately, while the man presented himself in front of Garrison, in his hand he carried a small wooden box and had a folded chess board. tucked under his arm.

“Do you play, Monsieur?”

The Lieutenant nodded, moved his coffee cup and indicated the chair, silently inviting the stranger to sit. The man held out the box and Garrison picked up a black pawn, with a shake of his head the man sat down and set up the board with the white pieces in front of his new opponent.

“Do not let Pascal annoy you he is crazy about chess, always assumes my customers will play.” The cafe owner placed a cup of coffee next to the newcomer.

“I don't mind, I have time to spare.” Garrison replied with a shrug of his shoulders and the game began.

The American looked at his contact, there was absolutely nothing memorable about him, he was of average build, height and colouring, completely nondescript and in his line of work that probably kept him alive. They played in silence until the proprietor moved away to make conversation with the two ladies at the corner table.

“Do you know the church of St Martin?” Pascal asked. The Lieutenant nodded. “Good, head for that church, there will be a fair haired young lady wearing a blue coat and yellow scarf waiting outside, she will be your guide.”

They continued their game for fifteen minutes or so, then the contact knocked over his queen, conceding to his opponent. Garrison got to his feet and shook hands with the man, taking his suitcase he left the cafe. He crossed the square and began to walk towards the church he had passed earlier, on his way into town. Was that really only just over an hour ago? Two German soldiers were checking passes and papers on one of the street corners, steeling himself for what was going to be his first test he handed over his documents.

“You are a long way from home.” The soldier spoke in French but slowly, obviously not very proficient in the language.

“I have no home. My house and business were bombed by the Allies.”

“You are married, where is your wife?”

“I was married,” Garrison lowered his voice, he sighed and shook his head sadly, “my wife was killed in the raid.”

The soldier had the grace to acknowledge his words and returned the papers giving him permission to move on.

The American walked away from the check point, another sigh passed his lips, this one a genuine sigh of relief, he and his papers had come through their first test. He continued to make his way to the church and his guide, turning the next corner he came face to face with a German Wehrmacht Hauptmann. Garrison stood aside to allow the man to pass, he'd taken only a few more paces when the officer called him back.

“Did my soldiers stop you Monsieur?” The tone was civil, the command of French much better.

“Yes, they did.”

“So you will have no objection to showing me your papers.”

“No, not at all.”

The Lieutenant shook his head, produced his wallet and handed over his documents again. Two checks within only a few minutes, he could feel his heart beating hard and stomach tighten with tension but concentrated on keeping his body relaxed and facial features unconcerned.

“Just a routine check, making sure my men are doing their job.” The German's pale blue eyes studied the man in front of him. “Your business in Rouen, what do you do?”

“I had a factory, we made aircraft parts for the Luftwaffe, but the factory was bombed. I am trying to start a business here.” The officer nodded.

“Do you have a travel permit?” Garrison handed over the necessary paper. “Where was this issued?”

“In Rouen.”

“There must have been an mistake.”

The American’s heart now seemed to be beating in his mouth, he felt his jaw tense but somehow forced himself to relax, he looked quizzically at the officer.

“Permits for this month are blue, this one is grey, but if you will come with me, we will confirm with Rouen, administrative errors do occur.

The Lieutenant inclined his head, the Hauptmann opened the rear door of the small Kubelwagen parked at the kerb. 'Just a routine check' the words kept going through Garrison's head. As he got into the vehicle a girl in a blue coat and yellow scarf rode past on a bicycle. He really was on his own.

They drove to the Town Hall, taken over by the Germans as their Headquarters and repeated all over Occupied Europe, purposely reminding the local population of their changed status. The journey had taken minutes, during which the American tried to work out how the hell it had gone wrong so quickly, or had it? He just had to stick to his story. The German officer knew nothing, it was a routine check, he had to believe that. There was however the possibility that intelligence back in London had made a mistake. Information was constantly being sent back to Britain from people on the ground throughout the Occupied territories about changes of passes and permits and real samples were smuggled out whenever possible. The Germans knew this, so they countered by changing the requirements frequently to make it difficult to forge copies. Could it be as simple as that? Caught because of a wrong colour.

The Lieutenant followed the Hauptmann up the steps of the building, set back from the others it overlooked another small square. He checked for escape routes as a matter of routine, four long, narrow windows at entrance level but set very high, high enough to break bones if he had to jump. There was only one central door, with a sentry either side, they snapped to attention as their officer passed through. Once inside Garrison was taken into a room on the ground floor and told to wait, the door was not locked, he still had his suitcase and wallet but the potentially incriminating papers were with the German. He wanted to move, to pace the floor and try to ease the tension throughout his body but he curbed the need and sat on one of the two chairs in the room separated by a simple wooden table. He knew that any attempt to escape now would compromise his story and be futile, he wouldn't even get down the front steps, so he did as he was told and waited.

*****

Yves drove the ancient lorry the family used for deliveries back up the track leading to the farm, new vehicles were impossible to obtain. They had to manage with what they had. He wondered again how much longer would France have to wait for Liberation. Surely that day would come soon and life could then return to normal, he doubted he could remember what normal was. He negotiated the last few potholes on the track, it had been an even earlier start than usual that day and the young man yawned as he brought the truck to a halt, he got out stretching his spine as he did. To his surprise Chloe, an old school friend, hurried out of one of the farm-yard buildings, her face flushed and blonde hair flying loose, escaping the sleek style he was accustomed to.

“Are you all right?” His voice was full of concern.

“Yes, but there is a problem. I was due to be a guide earlier.”

Yves nodded, he knew that like him, she was a member of the Resistance.

“The man I was waiting for was picked up by the Boche! I saw it happen, so I watched their HQ for a few hours and as far as I know he is still in there. I left because it may have become obvious that I was watching, I do not know who else to tell apart from you, I get my instructions by dead letter, I do not know who sends them.”

The young woman spoke quickly, obviously shaken by what had happened earlier, her blue eyes searched Yves face for answers, for help and for reassurance.

“Can you describe him to me?”

She nodded and went on to describe Paul, the man he'd escorted into town only hours ago. He swore under his breath.

“You were right to tell me, Chloe, I will do what I can to let people know.”

“What can I do?” She watched her friend considering his response.

“Nothing,” said Yves quietly and with an air of wisdom older than his years, he added, “just go home and forget him.”

*****

The door opened and the German officer who had stopped Garrison in the street came back into the room, he placed the documents he had taken away on the table and took a seat on the other chair. He smiled briefly, his tone was pleasant as he introduced himself.

“My Name is Hauptmann Lange, I am the Commandant here and I need to check more details with you Monsieur Bassin.”

“I will help all I can.”

The American looked the man in the eye, giving the appearance of someone eager to assist. He had the growing conviction that he was not going to get out of there that easily.

“Good, then we won't have to keep you from your business here, which is?”

“As I said, my factory in Rouen was bombed and I am here to try to start again. There are some suitable buildings on the outskirts of town.”

“Why here?”

“There is a good rail and road network to send the parts to Germany and to get supplies into the factory and enough people to come to work for me.”

The Hauptmann continued to ask various questions about, Paul Bassin, his family, his business and more. The Lieutenant answered them all, he was his cover story, thinking in French, speaking in French, being French. The German started to repeat questions, slide in incorrect information and quicken the pace, Garrison knew it was all in an attempt to trick him into giving different answers but he stuck to his story. He had no other line of defence.

“Well Monsieur, I have other duties to attend to.”

The officer stood and gathered the papers into a neat pile, carefully tapping the edges together and if the American thought for one moment that he was getting them back, he was wrong.

“I want you to wait here and will ask Leutnant Bauer to see you. I am in contact with Rouen to verify certain facts.” With that he left the room and this time Garrison heard the key turn in the lock as the man closed the door behind him.

*****

“I am Leutnant Bauer. I will be asking you some questions, just to confirm your identity. We are still waiting to hear from the authorities in Rouen.”

Garrison watched the officer pace slowly around the room. Dark haired and stockily built, unlike his superior he was not the Aryan ideal. In another contrast to Lange, this man was a thug, of that the American was certain. The questions were the same ones he'd already been asked and again he gave the same answers, never veering away from the cover he had learned so well.

There was a sharp knock at the door, a soldier came in, he handed a piece of paper to Bauer then left. The German looked from paper to Garrison a couple of times.

“So you say you are Monsieur Paul Bassin.”

“Yes I am.” The American looked askance at his inquisitor but there was a look of triumph in the brown eyes that held his.

“Interesting,” Bauer paused and shook his head, “now I know that you are lying, because we believe Paul Bassin is dead.”

“No, there is a mistake. I am....”

Garrison's words were cut off by a swift, sharp back handed blow that snapped his head round, he put his hands up in defence and cowered away, he was a civilian after all, how else should he react?

“Now who are you?” 

The officer's face was so close the Lieutenant could smell the man's breath, he held his brutish stare for a beat and knew deep within that this was only the beginning, in that moment he also wondered just how it was going to end.

Bauer took one step back, still looking directly at his prisoner, he called the guards.

*****

Colonel Yates grabbed hold of the telephone on his desk, his finger stabbed at the dial. 

“Major Johns, get in here right away.”

He barked, then virtually threw the receiver back onto its cradle, the officer glared at the instrument drumming his fingers impatiently on the leather writing surface.

“Enter.” He yelled in answer to the knock on his office door.

Johns walked in and brought himself to attention in front of his commanding officer but before the Major could open his mouth to speak the Colonel was in full flow.

“Put Garrison's men on standby now, they are going to Europe tonight come hell or high water. Contact Special Duties Squadron and organise an aircraft to take them in, no parachutes, I want them out there giving the Lieutenant back up.”

The Major stared at his superior, unable to believe what he had just heard. The Colonel had been bad tempered and distracted since he got back from his meeting in London with Colonel Lyle but was way out of line with this plan, Johns felt that he had to try to make him see sense.

“With respect Sir, that could jeopardise Garrison's mission. We don't know exactly what he is doing, one man may survive and the Lieutenant can speak the language but having four extra men out there who........”

“Major Johns.” The Colonel's voice was razor sharp. “You will do as I say. My gut tells me that something is going to go wrong and that young officer needs support.”

“Sir, we cannot interfere with a British operation and sad as it is, in the middle of all out war we are talking about one man's life. You are proposing that we risk another four and the crew of an aircraft and if we are able to arrange a landing party, the men and women of the Resistance. How can.....”

“Major, do not tell me how to run my unit. I am giving you a direct order, you may think I am crazy, I don't really give a damn but I'll have your oak leaves off of your shoulders before you can say 'Yes Sir' if you do not obey that order.” Yates' face flushed with rage, he glared at his aide.

Johns took a deep breath, brought himself to attention again and fixed his eyes on a point on the wall behind his superior officer waiting for dismissal. The telephone rang, shrilling into the tension filled silence, the Colonel picked up the hand-piece and listened.

“Thank you, please keep me informed.”

Yates placed the receiver onto its cradle carefully and looked up at his subordinate. Johns now dropped his gaze to look at the man on the opposite side of the desk, his shoulders had slumped, he was shaking his head slowly, when he spoke his voice was one quarter of the volume it was only moments ago.

“The Krauts have Garrison. Get that aircraft on standby for tonight would you and I want to see the Lieutenant's men in an hour. I have some calls to make. Thanks Walt.”

******

Sgt. Major Cobb pushed open the door of the map room, ushered Garrison's four men inside and then left. They stood in their group at the entrance, not sure whether to sit or stand. Colonel Yates was only too aware of their hesitation.

“Come in, sit down.” He waved his arm at the empty chairs and sat himself at the head of the large table which dominated the room, noting, as they moved forward, the unwillingness of any of the men to sit too close to Major Johns. “Gentlemen,” he ignored Johns' raised eyebrow and continued, “you have a mission, if you agree to take it.”

The convicts exchanged looks, that's how the The Warden usually broke that particular item of news, without the additional caveat, but how could they go without him? Yates answered their unspoken question straight away, pulling no punches.

“Lt Garrison is being held by the Germans.”

“What?” Actor was incredulous, the word out of his mouth before thought.

“Blimey, how'd that happen? Poor bloke has only just got there.” Goniff looked around the table, Casino and Chief exchanged looks of concern and disbelief.

“The Lieutenant arrived as planned, was taken to the safe house and met his contact, that much we do know.” The Colonel faced the pickpocket. “Some of the agents don't even leave the landing strips, Krauts are there to meet them.”

Goniff looked at the officer, then turned away, sickened by his response.

“Can the resistance there be trusted.?” Actor had recovered his shock almost immediately and now his clear gaze fell directly upon Yates. 

“We have no reason to suspect that the cell has been compromised. The leader has been out there for a long time, he runs a very efficient and trustworthy group.

“How long has the Lieutenant been held?”

“About 36-48 hours.”

“And the mission is?” The Italian knew the answer before it was given.

The Colonel looked steadily at the imposing man who had naturally taken position as Garrison's second in command. He did not reply straight away, they were technically civilians and had every right to choose to go back to prison, he wasn't sure which way they would jump even now.

“I want you to get him out, he has information which must not fall into enemy hands.”

Actor looked directly at the officer, with his face poker straight but his mind buzzing with what they had been asked to do and the fact that the Army trusted them enough to let them go and do it. Casino would gripe, Chief would do what he was asked and Goniff would just follow. He turned to look at his fellow cons, they all knew that they did not have to go, they all knew that not one of them would refuse.

“What if we can't get him out?” Chief's dark gaze fell upon both officers.

“You have to make sure that he doesn't talk.” Yates looked away from the men.

“Meaning?” Actor's eyes had hardened, once again he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it for himself.

“You will have to kill him.” It was the Major who spoke this time.

Actor felt Casino start to move out of his chair, he placed his hand firmly on his colleague's arm in restraint.

“You want us to do your dirty work.” The stocky safe-cracker glared at Johns.

“It's all dirty work.” Goniff muttered but it was loud enough for everyone to hear, he shook his blonde head in disgust.

“When we get in Major we will be bringing the Warden out.” Actor was firm but full of disdain, they all knew the officer did not like the Lieutenant, nor the team.

“Garrison has an L-Pill.” Johns continued, ignoring the hostility and looks of derision from the four men. “If you cannot get him out, one of the ways to stop him talking is to encourage him to take it.”

Actor stared at the man, appalled by what he had just heard, unable to believe what they, and in reality, what he was being asked to do. To try to encourage the Lieutenant to take his own life seemed even more abhorrent than shooting him, and he had no intention of doing either.

“Hold on, what the hell is an L-pill?” asked Goniff before the Italian could speak.

“L - is for Lethal, baby. It's a suicide pill.”

Casino was on his feet now, his brown eyes boring into the Major. Chief's face was as impassive as ever but anger burned in his dark eyes too. The Englishman looked up at his irate friend and then at everyone seated around the table, with a visible shudder he voiced the feelings of every member of Garrison's team.

“That is really dirty work.”

******

The four men left the briefing in silence, each preoccupied with his own thoughts about the mission they had agreed to undertake. Chief and Actor went to the Sgt. Major's office to arrange for weapons and uniforms, knowing that time was short, they were going to take as much with them that was possible, practicable and useful. Goniff and Casino went outside, they each lit a cigarette and stood in an alcove next to the stone steps leading into the manor house. They smoked in silence for a few minutes exhaling slowly and watching the blue haze billow then whirl away on the light breeze.

“Hey Casino!”

The safe-cracker looked at his colleague who, having finished his cigarette, now had his hands in his pockets and was scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot.

“That Hell pill the Major told us about.”

“'L', Goniff not Hell.” The blonde winced. “Though I reckon that Hell is where the Lieutenant thinks he is right now, Krauts'll beat him to a pulp to find out what he knows.”

"Do you think he'll take the ruddy thing?

Goniff's voice reflected the uncertainty and horror he obviously felt. A charged silence hung between the two men.

“I dunno.” Casino's reply was spoken as softly as the question had been asked.

“Ye see, he might just take it, he's on his own, he doesn't even know we're going out there to get him back.”

Casino admired the pick-pocket's confidence, an innocent in many ways, Goniff was much more than a colleague, he was his buddy, his pal, he waited for him to continue.

“There's somethin' else.”

“What's that?”

“When we first started this - er – group, ye' know, with The Warden, we wouldn't 'ave put our lives on the line to go 'n rescue 'im, we'd 'ave just gone back to stir. It's – well – it's different now.”

“Nah! We went back for him in Norway and we went back in France too, ended up with those kids and a dog as extras!”

“Yes, Mate you're right but when we did that we were already in Occupied Territory and we were saving our own necks too. This time we are going into it, we could just stay here and do nothin' until the Brass or Feds work out what to do wiv us.”

The two men looked at each other for a long minute, Casino nodded slowly but made no comment, then he clapped the shorter man on the shoulder.

“Come on, let's go.” He said quietly.


	6. Chapter 6

“Leave him alone.” The voice was strong, the tone commanding and the words and accent most definitely English.

All eyes focussed on the speaker, who was framed in the doorway with Chief’s knife at his throat, the highly polished blade glinted wickedly in the half light. The Indian moved his prisoner forward and kicked the door shut behind them.

“Found him listening outside, looked like he’d been there a few minutes, dunno how much he’s heard.”

“Well maybe he heard me and this lousy crumb.

Casino had Yves pinned to the wall, the cords of the safe-cracker's arms taut with both the effort and his anger.

“Shut up.”

Actor shot his colleague a warning glance and then turned to study the new captive. He needed to know why this man, who obviously held authority, had been eavesdropping. There was no guarantee that he really was English despite his flawless use of the language, but there were no guarantees of anything any more. The two men held each other’s gaze.

“Who are you?” Asked the Italian eventually.

“I could ask you the same question,” countered the stranger who appeared to be completely at ease despite being held at knife-point.

A long minute passed, a minute in which there was neither movement nor noise. Goniff watched nervously from his seat on a bale of straw while Casino eased his grip slightly on the young Frenchman and turned to watch the silent confrontation between the two men, they had locked horns but one of them would have to give way sooner or later. Time seemed to stand still, Actor knew that he would have to break the stalemate if he were to discover more about the nondescript brown haired man whose blue eyes still held his unfalteringly. The con man gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head; Chief saw the signal, sheathed his knife and pushed the outsider towards the centre of the barn.

“You are all here because of Paul Bassin.”

Garrison’s team had been told his assumed name, if little else, Actor exchanged a look with each of his colleagues then turned his gaze back to the man who stood before him but it was Casino who asked the question. 

“So what do you know about him?”

“Before I tell you anything you had better let Yves go.”

Once again the tone was a command not a request and the use of the youngster’s Christian name was not lost on the four men, Casino’s simmering anger boiled to the surface again.

“Why the hell should I? He gave Bassin to the Krauts.”

“No he didn’t.” The voice was measured and calm. “I did.”

Before the man had chance to finish his sentence Casino dropped his hold on Yves and darted across the straw littered floor, fists clenched ready to strike.

“You rotten stool-pigeon!” He yelled, as he closed the distance on his quarry.

By common consent Chief and Goniff moved swiftly to intercept the safe-cracker and with a determined joint effort just managed to hold him off.

“Leave it to Actor mate.” The blonde thief, spoke softly, trying to soothe his friend.

“Wadda ya mean? He ratted on our guy, he betrayed him to the Krauts and you know what they’ll do to him, cos he won’t talk. I’m tellin ya, he won’t.”

Casino’s voice shook with rage, his dark eyes bored into the man he still wanted to attack.

Actor observed the exchanges in silence, then pushed an old kitchen chair towards the stranger using the toe of his boot.

“I asked you who you are, you still haven’t told me.” He said calmly.

The chair and the statement were ignored.

“Are you injured Yves?” asked the incomer switching easily to French.

The youth was still sitting where he had fallen, obviously stunned by the man’s presence. He rubbed at his throat and swallowed hard, his voice was slightly hoarse when he spoke.

“I am okay Pascal, but I did not know you were involved with the Resistance.”

“That is how it should be.”

“I told him,” he pointed at the Italian, “that I had driven the man into town that is all.”

“Don't worry Yves, just go back to the house, I will deal with these men.”

Actor found the short conversation informative but he was rapidly losing patience. The stranger seemed to sense that his time had run out, he turned away from Yves and held out his hand to the taller man.

“My name is Pascal, as you heard. I am in charge of this sector, although as you also heard some of my operatives are unaware of my involvement.”

There was a short pause as the five men waited for the young Frenchman to leave the barn and close the door behind him. Actor hesitated a moment longer, then took the proffered hand and gave his name.

“Actor?” repeated Pascal raising an eyebrow.

“A nickname.” The con man added nothing to qualify his declaration.

“Forget the amenities,” said Casino, still flanked by Goniff and Chief, “what the hell are you doing setting up our guy for the Krauts, we’re going to have to get him out.”

“No!”

“What!” Casino was ready to pounce again.

“He stays where he is.” Icy blue eyes met angry brown.

“Why?” asked Goniff?

“Because the information Paul Bassin has is false isn’t it?” Actor spoke softly but his words seemed to fill the barn. The other three convicts stared at their colleague unwilling to believe what they had just heard and yet each man knew it was the truth. This time nobody tried to stop Casino as he ran at the Resistance leader and hit him with a hard right hook. The man reeled backwards with the force of the blow and fell to the ground.

“You lousy Limey bastard!”

Casino growled as he straddled his victim and landed another couple of punches before Actor signalled for Chief and Goniff to intervene and pull him away. The two men took charge of their irate colleague and tried to calm him while Pascal pushed himself into a sitting position and dusted himself free of straw using the time to regain composure and to allow his eyes to focus again.

“I probably deserved that.” He said eventually.

“You bet you did.” Casino badly wanted to throw another punch.

“Paul Bassin’s information could save many lives.”

“Oh don’t give me that sacrifice one for thousands routine.”

The statement started strongly but trailed away, it was an argument Garrison used himself and a concept the officer believed in, how could it be used against him now? The Italian American shook his head slowly; while his three colleagues remained silent, they were also well aware of the Lieutenant’s heart held beliefs.

“He has to talk.”

“He won't.” Said Chief quietly.

Goniff ran a hand through his blonde hair, his stomach was churning, he could hardly take in the facts that were unfolding before him. The Resistance, and an Englishman at that, had betrayed the Warden, but there was still another way out for the Lieutenant. The little thief’s mouth dried at the prospect but he managed to voice his thoughts.

“It might not come to that. He’s got one of those ‘L’ pills the Major told us about.”

The Londoner shuddered at the thought of the officer taking his own life, would he do it if things got too bad? Could he do it?

“The ‘L’ pill won’t work.” Said Pascal, keeping a close watch on Casino for his reaction and half expecting another attack but the dark haired man simply shook his head in disgust.

“Jesus Christ, I thought the Krauts were the enemy. Whose side are you on?”

“The victor’s I hope.”

“That says nothing Monsieur,” stated Actor calmly, “can you tell us exactly what is going on here?”

“I think I am the one who needs explanations, what are you doing here?”

“We’ve already told you mate, we’re here to get our Warden back.” Said Goniff.

“Warden,” the Resistance leader repeated the word, “that’s an interesting name.”

“Yeah, that’s all it is, so quit playing games and just tell us what’s going on.” Casino was growing more and more impatient.

Pascal looked at the four men, he didn’t have to tell them anything and indeed their presence could jeopardise the carefully arranged plan he had been ordered to put in place. The Indian looked positively dangerous and would undoubtedly kill him if necessary, the one who had attacked him still wanted to beat him to death and the little blonde would probably be asked to bury the body. The tall one, 'Actor', had something different about him though; he held the air of authority, control and leadership that the others respected.

*****

Garrison was still lying where he had fallen when his guards had thrown him back into the empty, stone floored, basement room that was his cell. He could not work out how long he had been there this time, twenty minutes, an hour, two hours, unlikely to be as long as two hours, that would give too much respite from the beatings he'd been taking. He tried to move, tried to get away from the pain that racked his body, neither worked. He suspected that his tormentors had managed to break a couple of ribs, his shoulders and torso had been pummelled not only with fists and boots but with an expertly handled weighted rubber hose. The heavily built Feldwebel who was responsible really enjoyed his work. Then his interrogator, Bauer, had ordered a change in methods. The Lieutenant shivered not only at the memory of having his head and upper body held under water until his lungs screamed for air, but because his shirt was still damp and clinging to his body. He couldn't remember how many times he'd thought he would drown, he didn't want to remember. He was cold, in pain and completely exhausted.

He opened his eyes, only the suggestion of light came in through the tiny, heavily barred, window at street level. His watch had been taken from him, so he could only guess that it was somewhere between 0200 – 0300 but in reality he had lost all sense of time. In that moment, in what was probably the darkest hour of the night he accepted that he had also lost hope.

He knew it was more than likely that he had been given up to the Germans but by whom? His contact was the most likely culprit, but it could have been Yves or the girl who was to be his guide. Had it been for money or just to keep in with the Occupying Force?. He felt sickened by his suspected betrayal, angry and lost, he could not see any way out, other than the one that even now he wasn't sure was a real option – his suicide pill. He knew that cyanide worked fast, but could he take his own life?

With great effort and in considerable pain, he pulled himself across the floor and felt the wall with his outstretched hand, somehow he managed to partially sit up and lean against the cold, hard, stones. The movement brought nausea and again he shivered, he rested for a while, thinking about the few options that were left to him and then, decision made, he called the guard. The door swung open and a young soldier came in, even in the low light from the passage outside the Lieutenant clearly saw a weapon trained on him. He no longer had the strength to attempt to take it and what good would it do? How far would he get?

“I want to see Hauptmann Lange.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes, now.”

The guard closed the door and locked it, the sound of his footsteps faded away down the corridor. Garrison didn't have to wait long before he heard movement in the corridor again, ten minutes at most. The pale grey of early pre-dawn had just started to filter through the window when the door opened. The blonde Commandant stood, framed in the doorway.

“Well?”

The American lifted his head and looked his captor in the eye, his mouth had dried, but he managed to speak, hardly recognising his own voice.

“Garrison. Lieutenant,” he said in English, “926314.”

Turning away, he tried to fight down the bitter taste that had replaced his words.

“Very wise.”

Lange had automatically switched from French to English, he turned on his heel and left, signalling the young guard to lock the door again as he did.

The Lieutenant leaned back against the wall and waited for whatever was to come next. He was now certain that he would die here in France or in some hellish camp somewhere in Occupied Europe or in Germany itself and he wanted to die as Craig Garrison, United States Army, not as an unknown Frenchman who was already dead. He'd made his decision, not for himself but for others, for those he loved and for those who loved him. This way there was a chance they would be told that he had been killed in action. He did not want them to suffer the uncertainty that would hang over them if he were reported as 'missing'. Hard and difficult as it was going to be when they received the news, they would know of his fate, or at least he hoped they would.

Garrison had been living in two worlds for a long time, the world he was fighting for and the world he was fighting in and he'd always had the ability to keep them entirely separate. Now for a few brief moments he allowed his worlds to collide as a myriad of memories and a fusion of faces tumbled through his mind. The swirl steadied and the image of a pair of soft brown eyes and a gentle smile remained. He bowed his head onto his raised knee, he wished he could hear her whisper his name, taste her lips against his and feel her body respond to his touch, just one more time. He wanted to tell her again how much he loved her, but he had, in that final letter, written such a short time ago but a world away, in London. He tried not to think of her opening the envelope, reading his words and knowing that they would never have a future together. He shook his head slowly and allowed her image to fade. For what would probably be the last time he folded his most precious memories away and drew down the shutters on everything and everyone he loved, to protect them from the contamination of the brutality that he was sure would come.

Seconds later there was a rush of footsteps in the corridor, the door slammed back against the wall with a bang and he was pulled roughly to his feet by two guards. Oblivious of his gasps of pain, they half walked, half dragged him along the passages back to the interrogation room. His wrists were tightly bound again and he was forced down onto a hard chair, he tried to catch his breath.

“You are out of uniform in German territory. I could have you shot immediately, but we have even more questions now and you may have the answers.”

Leutnant Bauer paced up and down as he spoke, suddenly he turned and pushed his face into the American's.

“Why would an Allied officer come here? What exactly are you doing? What information do you have?” The the quick fire questions spilled out of the man's mouth.

“Garrison Lieutenant - 926314.”

The German officer stood back, shook his head, folded his arms and then nodded to someone else in the room. Out of the corner of his eye Garrison saw the burly Feldwebel approaching, he braced himself for the first blow and tasted fresh blood in his mouth as the man backhanded him hard across the face and so it began, all over again.

*****

Garrison's men listened in silence as Pascal explained his small but important part in the plan to deceive the Germans by feeding them false information.

“Our occupiers are not stupid, they know the Allies intend to invade this summer, your man thought he was carrying information to give to one of the other resistance cells in this area. Four days ago I received a coded message for me to see and deal with personally, it came from an unusual but verified source. I was ordered to inform the Germans that Paul Bassin would be of interest to them.”

“So like a good boy you just did as you were told and now the Krauts are beating hell out of a guy who just won't talk.”

Casino's barely controlled anger infused every word.

“London didn't want the information to be given up too easily, they have to work for it.”

Pascal squirmed inwardly as he spoke, the reasoning sounded vile even to his ears.

“Yeah, they're working alright, working him over and over for nothin' he won't tell them a thing and you blocked his only other way out, a phoney L-pill, Geez that's low, not that he'd ever use it.” The safe-cracker stabbed his index finger under the man's nose.

“I didn't block anything. The fake L-pill was issued at Tangmere before he flew out.”

There was a loud silence following the last statement. Casino turned and walked away, his jaw working with fury. He dare not stay within arms length of the man because he would hit him again had he not moved. Actor shared his colleague's anger and disgust at the obvious set-up but he needed information not recrimination.

“How do you know he has not cracked already.” The Italian felt the incredulous looks from his three colleagues boring into him as he spoke.

“I have a man on the inside, he has worked in the Town Hall for many years, when the Occupation began he stayed. He looks after files and documents, so knows nearly everything the Germans here are doing or intend to do. He is too old to fight but his form of Resistance is invaluable, he causes havoc with a pen.” Actor nodded his understanding before the man continued. “I spoke to him a few hours ago, your 'Warden' has not said anything. He is sticking rigidly to his cover story.”

“We keep tellin' you that Mate.”

“He has to tell them what he knows.” Pascal snapped in frustration.

“Can your guy tell him to talk?” Chief asked quietly.

“Would you act upon the word of an unknown Frenchman?”

The American Indian shrugged and shook his head slowly.

“Somehow, I reckon we might be doin' just that.” Goniff said with a grimace and a nod towards Pascal, “actin' on the word of someone we don't really know.”

“I can tell the Warden to talk.” Actor said calmly.

The Italian now felt four pairs of eyes target him like the traversing barrels of four naval guns, he cast his own gaze around his audience before he spoke.

“What rank is the Commandant here?”

“It is a small town, a Hauptmann Lange, he has not been here very long. He's a loyal German but not a fanatical Nazi.”

“One of your buddies eh?”

Casino could not resist the jibe and received a glare from Actor for his trouble. Pascal ignored the safe-cracker and waited to hear more.

“Good, we have brought uniforms, papers, insignia and weapons, I will go into their HQ as a Major in the SS, checking security in an unannounced visit. I'll inform them that I must see all prisoners alone, that's when I tell Warden that he has to talk.” The Italian turned to the Resistance leader. “We were told you have a vehicle.”

“Oh yes.” The man gave a self satisfied smile. “A German staff car, it is shared between sectors, we even have different plates for it. I can have it here by 0600.”

Pascal looked around the four strangers, so it seemed to be 'Actor' by name and by nature, the man was prepared and obviously had the ability to walk into German HQ purporting to be a member of the SS. The others had not questioned his plan and he was willing to bet that the group had done something like this before. He shook his head in disbelief, he did not need to know their background but whatever these men were, he was sure that they were not trained soldiers, nor were they fully trained agents.

Actor looked at the cell leader and gave a quick nod of approval regarding the car. He then lit a much needed cigarette, a poor substitute for his pipe but it would have to do. Some of the tension he'd carried with him from England eased away with the curl of blue smoke drifting up to the rafters. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief now he did not have to persuade Garrison to take his own life, or to kill the young man himself. The whole idea still sickened him but could he have done it? His brown eyes became distant as he lost himself in thought for a moment. Goniff's voice dragged him back to the task in hand.

“Jerries 'ave had hold of Warden for two days, wonder what sort of a state he's in?”

“I do not think Hauptmann Lange will let it go too far, Leutnant Bauer, his deputy, is a nasty piece of work, but Lange has ultimate command.”

“You sure about that?”

Casino was still baiting the resistance leader, who simply nodded his response, the safe-cracker shook his head and looked straight towards Actor for instruction.

“The next part of the plan should be straightforward. Once I get the Warden to talk, I tell the Germans that I will personally escort him to a more secure prison and hand him over to the Gestapo so they can question him further. We then just drive away.”

“As easy as that.” The little Englishman rolled his eyes at his colleagues.

“Let's hope so.” Actor replied.


	7. Chapter 7

Garrison followed the guard, his hands tied in front, the coarse rope chafed and cut into his wrists reminding him, if he needed a reminder, that this was not a nightmare. He was wide awake and his German captors were going to shoot him.

The guard stood aside, early morning light streamed through the open door, the Lieutenant closed his eyes against the bright onslaught and hesitated, the thump of a rifle butt between his shoulder blades forced him forwards and outside into a partially cobbled courtyard. Six soldiers with rifles stood at ease with their backs towards him, 75 yards behind them was a plain windowless wall, gouged and pockmarked with bullet-holes. A sand filled trench ran along the base of the wall and in front of the trench there were three 6 foot tall wooden stakes, each about the width of a railway sleeper.

A trickle of sweat ran down his back, his tethered palms were moist but his mouth was dry as he moved forwards again still following the guard. He could feel his heart pumping hard within his chest and wondered how many more beats would it make. He did not know how he felt, did not know how was he supposed to feel. In less than five minutes his life would be over, Lt Craig Garrison would cease to exist. He felt no real panic, no dread. What was he supposed to think about in these final moments?

They arrived at the middle one of the three stakes, the guard cut his bindings. The ropes had gouged into his skin and he automatically rubbed his wrists, blood had seeped into the cuffs of his shirt – it didn't matter. He looked down at his freshly bloodied palms - it didn't matter. The guard grabbed his arms again and rebound his wrists, behind this time, his bruised and battered shoulders screamed and the ribs his tormentors had cracked protested - it didn't matter.

Leutnant Bauer stood before him, confident and arrogant, he offered a blindfold, with all the defiance he could muster Garrison held the man's gaze and shook his head. The Nazi asked him one more time to answer their questions and for what would be the last time he replied with only his name, rank and serial number. The German looked him in the eye, then turned on his heel and went back to his men.

Time slowed but the Lieutenant's heart was beating fast, high in his chest, his breathing shallow as adrenaline flowed, fight or flee? He could do neither. Suddenly he knew how or what he felt, it was utter disbelief that this was the end. He and his men had got away with it so often, out witting, out running and out shooting the enemy time and time again, they'd had close shaves but had always made it – until now. There would be no escape, he was alone, about to die and could not believe it was going to happen.

Garrison had been wounded before and knew how it felt to have a bullet rip into his flesh but there would be more than one, large calibre, short range, it would be over quickly. An order was barked out from somewhere in the yard, the soldiers came to attention, another barked command, they took aim. The American Officer raised his head, tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry, he took a deep breath, probably his last and felt his heart beating away the final seconds of his life.

*****

Chief brought the staff car to a smooth halt outside the front door of German HQ. Actor and Casino, now playing the part of SS officers remained seated in the back until Goniff trotted around the vehicle and opened the rear door. The tall confidence man stepped down with his usual air of 'belonging' he not only wore the rank of an SS Major, he was an SS Major. Turning back to the car he made a show of giving orders to his Aide, then strode up the steps and through the front door, acknowledging the sharp salutes of the two sentries as he entered. Goniff retuned to his seat and with a rather imperious wave forwards from his remaining back seat passenger Chief pulled away from the kerb, turned right and headed for the back of the building, he drove around a couple of blocks and then parked the car in a side street facing the German Headquarters, there the three men waited.

Actor stepped into the entrance hall, he paused waiting for the soldier at the desk to acknowledge and pay due respect to his presence. The young man jumped to his feet and came to attention, wondering why an SS officer was here and at 0700.

“May I help you Herr Major?” he asked, keeping his eyes to the front.

Actor approached slowly, taking his time, looking around, his gaze took in the man's appearance, purposely increasing the pressure on him. Eventually he spoke.

“I am Major Roth, here to inspect all security measures but I want to see Hauptmann Lange before I begin.”

“I am sorry Sir. He is busy at the moment, would you like to wait in his office?

Actor continued to look steadily at the German, he had expected to be told that the local Commandant was not even in the building at this early hour and use the opportunity to look for Lieutenant Garrison. He knew he could not afford to waste time, nor risk being confined in an office.

“No, take me to him at once.” He ordered.

The man hesitated, he was on duty alone in the reception area but dare not keep a member of the SS waiting, he would have to leave his desk and face any consequences later.

“Follow me please Herr Major.” The soldier lead the way.

“Do you have cells here?”

“Yes, down the stairs off this hallway. They are in the old basements.”

“Get out the keys, I will need them later. Are you holding any prisoners?”

“Yes Sir. Two Frenchmen.”

“Good, I want to see all the information you have on them.”

Actor continued to follow the young man along a corridor leading towards the back of the building. They came to an outer door with tall, narrow windows either side. The soldier stopped and turned.

“Please wait here Sir, I will inform Hauptmann Lange of your arrival once it is safe for me to do so.”

The German positioned himself with his back to the door and stood to attention again with eyes to the front. Actor raised an eyebrow at the man's words and actions then silently crossed in front of him to the far window.

Looking down into the courtyard below, the sight that met his brown eyes made his blood run cold. It was something he had not expected to see, had never wanted to see and yet he knew it had always been a possibility. Garrison was standing in front of a six man firing squad, under the orders of a Feldwebel Guard Commander, two Wehrmacht Officers stood to one side completing the group.

Actor swore under his breath in his native tongue and at the same time offered a Hail Mary, the prayer came instantly without the need for thought. The Italian knew he had only seconds to make a decision and act, if he was going to. His irrational thoughts told him to draw his side-arm, break the window, shoot the two officers and then - but there would not be - 'and then'. He'd be lucky to fire the two rounds before he would share the Lieutenant's planned fate. His rational thoughts told him that he had to bear witness and then report back to Col. Yates exactly what had happened to the young officer he had come to respect, like and admire. As Garrison's second he knew he also bore the responsibility for the lives of the three men waiting outside, they needed his skills to get them out of France safely. His rational thoughts won the internal struggle, they had to.

He continued to look down into the courtyard, all too aware that his hands were clammy, his heart was pounding and his throat tightly constricted. In despair, the normally unmoved and unemotional confidence man watched helplessly and with deepening sorrow as just one of the many horrors of war unfolded before him and this one was personal.

The Lieutenant's hands were tied behind his back, he had no blindfold and he was looking straight ahead. The Italian couldn't begin to think of what would be going through his commander's mind as he waited to die? Only God knew.

Actor shook his head and swallowed hard, he felt sick.

“Attention.”

Actor did not want to see the split second when bullets met flesh and blood, nor watch the final gory moments of Garrison's life, the aftermath was going to be hard enough to bear.

“Take aim.”

Actor offered another Hail Mary, tightened his jaw and closed his eyes.

“Fire.”

*****

The sound of six rifle shots ruptured the bright morning and reverberated around the courtyard, five live rounds, one blank. The bullets went spinning towards their target, seeking to pierce, pass through and destroy any flesh, blood and bone in their path. Bricks, mortar and plaster, shattered as the projectiles hit the wall behind the Lieutenant.

*****

“What the 'ell was that.” Goniff turned fear filled, blue eyes on his two companions. He knew exactly what the sound of the gunfire was but looked to the others to deny the fact he couldn't deny himself.

“I've a good idea.” Casino's strong featured but ashen face showed the shock and the horror the three men felt.

“What are we going to do? I mean, is it the Warden, Actor, both of 'em?”

The blonde spoke quickly, the words tumbling from his mouth. He looked directly at Chief, who was sitting stock still, his face was unreadable but his dark eyes reflected the same fear and emotion the Englishman held within.

“Likely be the Warden.” He said quietly.

No one spoke or moved for a long minute.

“Yeah, well,” Goniff's mood switched like quicksilver, “maybe it was someone else, a Frenchie, or one of their own.”

Casino looked at his colleagues in unaccustomed silence. His German was limited to the few essential words Garrison and Actor had insisted they all knew. He understood more than he could speak but that would not help to pass himself off as an SS officer in the Headquarters building for much more than one minute. The safe-cracker's insides felt like a tightly knotted ball. Instinct yelled at him to go in and find out what had happened but he knew deep down that the only safe option for them was to stay exactly where they were.

“We wait here till we find out.” He said firmly.

“How long?” Asked Chief.

“I dunno.”

The Italian-American's voice was less sure, he shrugged, he wasn't used to being in charge despite his inherent self confidence but the other two seemed to have placed him there.

“There aren't too many people about yet, maybe an hour.”

“What are we waiting for?”

Goniff scrubbed his chin with his hand, the German helmet he wore stopped him running his fingers though his blonde hair, as was his habit when troubled. He didn't like the idea of just sitting there, they were too open, too exposed.

“If Actor got to Garrison and the con worked they'll both come out. If it's just Actor at least we'll know and if nobody makes it.....”

Casino stopped, unable to add anything else. He didn't share Goniff's newly discovered optimism about the possible identity of the victim of those shots and didn't really believe that the pickpocket did either.

“Then what?” The Englishman would not give up.

The safe-cracker's jaw worked in anger, but he knew he had no other choice, he took a deep breath before he spoke.

“We ask that stoolie Pascal for help.”

*****

Shards of masonry stung Garrison's flesh, dust powdered the air but his heart still pumped and he drew another breath. When had he fallen to his knees in the sand stained with the blood of previous victims? He didn't know, but remained where he was, listening to his heart, feeling his breath shudder through his body, he couldn't have avoided the bullets, they shouldn't have missed.

A pair of gleaming black boots came into his line of vision, someone grabbed a handful of hair and forced his head back, he looked up at Bauer who said nothing, but his mouth curled into a sardonic smile. The squad had aimed high, he wasn't supposed to die, not this time anyway. Garrison now knew exactly what their game was, they would toy with him like a cat with a mouse, until they'd had enough, or until he had. His interrogator released his hair and let his head fall forwards. Still on his knees, the Lieutenant forced down the bile that rose in his throat, his body began to shake. He clenched his rope bound fists and his jaw in an attempt to stop the spasms and curled back into a foetal ball with his forehead on his knees. Although the morning sun was warm, he felt beads of cold sweat on his back, sticking his shirt to his skin but he could still feel, so he still lived, until the next time.

*****

Actor's body jerked involuntarily when the sound of multiple shots cracked, then echoed around the courtyard below. He waited for the seemingly endless pause that followed and then heard the commands to the squad of soldiers. He now had a choice. The soldier beside him was the only person who knew he was in the building, he could turn on his heel, walk out and drive away to safety with the others before Lange even knew of his arrival. His other option was to go down the steps and find out if, when faced with imminent death, Garrison had talked and therefore unknowingly succeeded in his mission. Although that was very unlikely he felt he owed it to the young officer to discover as much as he could about the last few days of his life.

The confidence man-man tried to clear the constriction in his throat before he had to speak and began to school his face for his next performance, as usual he had no script. The role did not demand emotion, so he had to take control and fight down his own, in order to play his part well. He turned from the window, towards the young German opening his eyes as he did, the man was still standing rigidly to attention, facing his front.

“Now, I will see Hauptmann Lange.”

His voice was strong and authoritative, his demeanour exactly right, he was undeniably back in character.

“Yes, Sir.”

With a click of his heels in salute, the soldier opened the door and stood aside to let the SS Major pass.

“Return to your duties.” The Italian commanded, then went down the steps and onto the cobbles below.

Actor's ears continued to ring with the noise of the shots, the air in the enclosed space was still vibrating, quivering with the shock of the violence that had taken place and fractured the quiet peace of early morning. Hauptmann Lange stood alone, unable to hide the look of surprise at the sight of a tall, imposing SS Major striding towards him. The Feldwebel was marching the squad of soldiers away, their duty done. Actor steeled himself to look towards the three stakes where Garrison had been positioned only moments ago, Bauer, the second in command, was standing over him.

The con-man had seen death far too often, more times than he wanted to, in war it was untidy, uncouth and undignified but something here was different. The Lieutenant's body should have been lying in the sandy ditch, thrown backwards by the force of the bullets. He was however, on his knees, curled into a ball, neat, tidy and alive! Actor watched the German grab a handful of Garrison's hair and force his head back, a few seconds later he released his hold, the Warden tucked himself back into his self protective ball and Bauer marched back to Lange.

Almost swamped with the sense of relief, the Italian was aware that he had to control his personal anger and concerns. He knew his young commander was physically fit and mentally strong but every man had a breaking point and he hoped and prayed they had not found it with this despicably, cruel charade. He wondered what state Garrison's mind was in now, it was impossible to imagine, but when it came to getting them both out of there the Lieutenant had to be able to read him, take his cues from him and follow his lead. Channelling his anger into his role he stood before his two German subordinates who both threw sharp Nazi salutes, Bauer's noticeably the more exuberant.

“Hauptmann Lange,” Actor addressed himself to the senior officer, “I am Major Roth, here to undertake an inspection of your security, but this,” he waved an arm towards Garrison, “needs explanation. Who is the prisoner and why is he still alive?”

He held the blue gaze of a man, still stunned by the unexpected and probably very unwelcome arrival of the SS.

“Herr Major.” Lange answered, his voice sounded unsteady even to his own ears. “This man has been masquerading as French but in the early hours he admitted to being an Allied Officer, an American.”

Actor's expression and stance didn't alter, but his sharp mind worked quickly, digesting yet another twist in the mission. The Warden's admission to his true identity would make his task easier, giving him the perfect excuse to take him ostensibly to a more secure prison but the younger man must have been desperate to make his confession. Why? The Italian could only assume that Garrison wished to die as himself.

“Has he talked?”

“No Herr Major.” It was the junior officer who answered the question.

“Who's idea was this?” Actor gave another wave of his arm.

“Mine Sir.”

Bauer puffed himself up proudly, expecting praise for his actions, until he noticed the anger in the Major's dark eyes when they levelled upon him.

“You placed a valuable prisoner in front of a firing squad.”

“Sir, with respect he is out of uniform, The Fuhrer said.....”

“I know what The Fuhrer said.” Actor snapped. “This man could have important information or knowledge that could be useful to the Reich.”

Bauer now acknowledged the Major's fury but still felt he had to justify his plan.

“It was a trick to get him to talk.”

“It was a trick that could have gone wrong, what if your men had been careless?” He paused looking from one officer to the other. “I will speak to this, American.” Actor turned, away, Bauer made to follow. “Stay there, Leutnant.” He barked. “We will speak later.”

The con-man marched across the cobbles, he reached his commander and looked down, but remained rigidly upright, fighting his instinct to help, knowing he was being watched and that his time was short. He could see Garrison's attempts to control the spasms passing through his body and hoped once again that the younger man would be able to work with him to get them both to safety. The officer had not looked up, nor acknowledged his presence in any way. Actor knew had to get his attention.

“Warden.” He said in English, there was no reaction at all. He tried again.

“Warden.” Garrison kept his head down and did not move.

“Craig.”

Actor had never used the Lieutenant's Christian name and although he felt that he had no option, it still sounded alien and felt uncomfortable on his lips. Thankfully, this time, he gained a response and gave a sigh of relief.

*****

The stones and cobbles had stopped echoing and reverberating the sound but Garrison could still hear the noise of the shots and still feel the disturbance in the air. Bauer had gone, but he remained on his knees, he should have guessed it was a sham, but he was too exhausted to guess any more. The Germans were not going to shoot an Allied officer only hours after he had confessed his identity. Hitler may well have given the order to shoot them as spies if found out of uniform but reason dictated that he was in France to do something or because he knew something. Hitler did not reason, but some of his officers did. They were going to question him again and again and he still had no way out. Maybe it would have been better if the squad had aimed true but he had made his decision and would die at their hands sooner or later and the information he carried would die with him.

His body protested, this time to the pressure he'd unintentionally imposed upon himself when he had dropped to his knees. He shifted, trying to ease his painful ribs, a low groan escaped his lips as he did, the metallic taste of blood still lingered in his mouth. Another pair of black boots came into his limited line of sight. Bauer again? Lange? He didn't bother to find out.

A single word spoken by the owner of the boots failed to penetrate the fug that was his weary, disconcerted mind. He concentrated on bringing his breathing under control, if they were planning to move him it was going to hurt.

The boots were still there. A spasm passed through his body, he tensed until it faded and waited for the next. Another single word, or maybe it was a command. That didn't register either. Then one more.

“Craig.”

Few people in the world used his Christian name, none of them here. Was this another trick? No. He knew he had not given his full name to the Germans of that he was sure. So who could possibly know? Garrison looked up slowly and saw Actor standing above him, in the uniform of an SS Major. How had he got here? How had he found him? The wave of relief and emotion that washed over him almost took his breath, with Actor came hope.

“The others are outside, Warden. We're taking you home.”

The Lieutenant saw concern and more importantly, care and compassion in the brown eyes looking down at him. He nodded and held the Italian's gaze to show him that he was listening and could understand.

“Follow my lead, but before we get out of here you must tell the Germans everything you know, it's fake. London want them to have it.”

“Fake?”

It was the first word he had spoken. He frowned, disbelief took hold, but Actor's expression and single nod of affirmation dispelled his doubt. Time to ask why later.

The con-man raised one elegant eyebrow, a silent signal to get ready, Garrison dropped his head, then came the barked words.

“Leutnant Bauer.”

Hurried footsteps crossed the courtyard and the black boots of his interrogator re-appeared. Garrison held his breath.

“Get him up!” Snarled Actor as he marched away.

*****

“Herr Hauptmann,” Actor spoke just as the man was about to mount the steps, he wanted to keep both Germans officers in sight, so neither could check up on him, although he thought the risk of that unlikely. The blonde stopped and came to attention.

“You need to control your junior officer, his idea, to trick the American, is good but he should let the SS, or the Gestapo deal with this type of prisoner. We all know our Fuehrer's order to shoot them is correct, but we need information from these people, before they die.”

“Yes Sir.”

Lange knew he had let his subordinate go too far. He wondered if the man in front of him had the power to recommend he lose his recently acquired command here and voiced his next question with trepidation.

“What happens now?”

“We carry on with the interrogation and see if his ploy worked. I will join you.”

The Hauptmann breathed a silent sigh of relief, Major Roth seemed to be fairly relaxed now but he was, after all, still SS. His own future here, could depend on whether or not the Allied officer chose to talk or remain silent. He went up the steps and made his way to the interrogation room, the others followed.

Bauer pushed his prisoner onto the hard backed chair facing the desk, then automatically looked towards the Major for instruction. Actor said nothing for a long minute, emphasising his control, eventually he nodded his consent for the interrogation to continue.

“Well Lieutenant Garrison 926314. Will you answer our questions now?”

The American looked at the three officers before him, even though he knew he had to give the information to the Germans, his training still fought against disclosure. It was now his turn to make them wait. Actor could see the tight set of his jaw and knew his inner struggle. Garrison took a breath, exhaled slowly and gave a single nod of his head.

Bauer shot a look of triumph at Lange.

“Untie him. Tell the guard outside to fetch some water for this man.” Commanded the Italian, he knew there was little else he could do to make his leader more comfortable.

There was a flurry of activity in and around the room as the orders were carried out. Actor indicated that Bauer should continue to interrogate, Lange sat at the desk to take notes, while the con-man carefully chose a place, where he could watch everyone in the room.

Garrison shifted uncomfortably in the chair to find a position in which he could ease some of the pressure on his painful ribs, relieved that he could now move his arms and hands. He took a drink, but it failed to completely wash away the taste of bitterness, blood and bile.

“That should loosen your tongue and help you to speak.”

Actor exchanged haughty, knowing looks with Lange and Bauer. He motioned to the dark haired German to begin.

“Why are you here?”

“To meet with members of the Resistance.”

Garrison spoke quietly, reluctantly, he sighed, playing his own part in the still dangerous charade. He knew he could not appear to be too compliant but was desperate to get out of that room and out of the building.

“I want names. Who did you meet?”

“I didn't.”

The German looked ready to strike his prisoner, Actor shook his head at the Leutnant.

“You caught me before I made contact.”

“How did you get here?”

“By boat and by train.” The American lied, trying to cover his real means of arrival.

“Why were you meeting the Resistance?”

The silence that followed the question was deafening. Garrison met the dark eyed gaze of his interrogator. Lange looked up, his pen poised. Actor held his breath.

“To give them some map co-ordinates and code words.”

*****

“I do not believe you!” Actor was leaning on the desk, arms braced at full length glaring into his commander's eyes, he had his back to the two other officers who were watching with interest. “You know much more than that, Lieutenant.”

Garrison shook his head. The Italian con-man in full flow was impressive, well into his role now and probably enjoying it, but he just wanted it to be over. A minuscule nod from his second told him it would not be much longer before they were moving out. Lange had dutifully written down the co-ordinates and code words he had given and the information was already being prepared for transmission to German High Command.

“I think we have been too soft with you. Our friends in the Gestapo have methods to ease your tongue and make you talk. They will start by ripping out your fingernails.”

Actor paused for effect, glanced over his shoulder at the others, then turned back again.

“It is excruciatingly painful.”

Garrison could just see the two German officers, Lange blanched at the last remark, whereas Bauer seemed excited at the thought. Actor spun around to face his subordinates.

“I will take this man to Paris, our friends on Avenue Foch will persuade him to tell us what he knows. I think we have quite a prize here.”

“Herr Major, with respect.”

The commandant was on his feet at attention, Actor's gaze fell on him, the icy glare chilled the whole room.

“Hauptmann?” There was a long still silence. “Do you have an objection?”

“No Sir, I merely wondered how you can take him on your own.”

Lange knew he sounded flustered, as indeed he was, before he could add anything, the Major spoke again.

“I am not alone, my Aide and two soldiers are waiting outside. I was due to stay here all day but these events have taken priority. I want to take a written copy of all the information he has given so far. We will leave for Paris straight away.”

*****

“Come on Chiefy, we said one hour.”

“Goniff's right. We've gotta move.”

“Ain't goin' nowhere.”

The Indian was staring at the entrance to the German Headquarters, like a hawk spotting its prey.

“You're gonna get us all killed, we've been here too long. We can go back to Pascal, get some men and raid the place tonight.”

The Englishman fidgeted nervously, his blue eyes also on the doorway and the sentries, but he knew that Chief, in this mood, would not give in to pressure, no matter how much he tried.

Casino was equally frustrated with Chief and getting angrier by the second. They should move out now but he knew he dare not draw attention to their presence by getting out and taking over the driver's seat which is what he badly wanted to do.

“Coupla minutes then I'll drive.”

Goniff's gaze went heavenwards, he huffed in exasperation but could do nothing but sit and wait. Those couple of minutes would take hours, he kept glancing at his watch convinced now that the second hand was going backwards.

Suddenly, Chief's body tensed, but his eyes remained fixed on the door, a moment later there was movement and Actor stepped out into the morning sun.

“Bloody hell. He's on his own.”

The pickpocket's tone captured the mood of the three men in the vehicle, sorrow mixed with relief. They all watched as the tall Italian turned back, obviously speaking to one of the sentries, who moved swiftly to hold open the door. The three men then breathed a collective sigh of relief as Garrison was brought out of the building, none too gently, by a stocky, dark haired, German officer.

“Blimey, 'e's only gone and got 'im.”

Actor now faced the square and raising an arm signalled for his car.

“Take it slow Geronimo.” Hissed the safe-cracker.

“I know what I'm doin'.”

Chief drove the short distance to the front of the building, drawing to a halt, neatly positioned right at the bottom of the steps. The other two cons were out of the car before it had completely stopped. Goniff trotted round and opened the near side door while Casino took up position on the kerb edge at the back of the car, both men stood to attention. Facing his front and unable to see what was happening the blonde could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest. His colleague, however, could see, he appeared to be looking at the SS Major waiting for instruction, but his dark eyes were taking in the condition of their real leader.

The Warden was unsteady on his feet, it was obvious that he had been viciously beaten by his captors, unable to lean on anyone for support, he seemed to be trying to lean on himself. His shoulders were hunched forwards and his head was down, the awkward stance probably an attempt to protect injuries, his hands were fastened in metal cuffs in front of his body. The safe-cracker found himself willing the Lieutenant not to fall. A movement drew his attention, Actor was now walking down the steps, a picture of unconcern, casually pulling on his grey gloves as he made his descent. The German with Garrison also began to make his way down, matching his prisoner's slow pace but making no attempt to assist.

Chief could only sit and watch part of the proceedings in the wing mirror as he waited impatiently to move out. His body screamed to go but he remained as still as a statue, with time stretching uncomfortably before him. He saw movements and heard the sharp click of heels in acknowledgement of rank as Actor reached the pavement and then felt the springs move as the Italian-American resumed his position in the rear of the car.

The Leutnant pushed Garrison into the back seat, Casino heard the sharp hiss of pain and subsequent sigh of relief but knew he had to ignore the man beside him, face forward and fight his natural instinct to help. The German officer turned and threw a sharp, enthusiastic Nazi salute to the SS Major who responded with a slow, elegant raise of the hand.

Goniff was licking his lips and trying not to fidget, he held onto the door waiting for the con-man to play out his role in full and praying that he was not going to go for a curtain call! At long last, Actor folded his tall, well built, frame into the back of the car, Goniff closed the door with a resounding thud and made his way swiftly to the front passenger seat. Seconds later Chief pulled the large vehicle away from the kerb, away from the building and away from immediate danger.

*****

Fighting the urge to drive faster, Chief maintained a steady pace through the small French town. The silent tension inside the vehicle was tighter than a drum. Garrison had hardly moved since Bauer had shoved him into the back seat. He was still, seemingly closed in on himself, between Actor and Casino who exchanged looks over his head but said nothing. As they reached the outskirts the tension began to ease a little, Chief put his foot down, the large car responded and then the four cons all seemed to speak at once.

“You gonna tell me where I'm goin' Actor, can't drive there if I don't know.”

“Stay on this road, in about 2 miles take a left, then it's about a 20 mile run.”

“Hey Casino, how is The Warden?”

“Come on Babe, let me get those off ya.”

The safe-cracker produced his special piece of spring steel and worked quickly to undo the locked cuffs around the Lieutenant's wrists. The man's words and actions gained the officer's attention, he watched as the deft fingers freed the lock and remove the restraint.

“Thanks Casino.” Garrison flexed his hands, saw the now dried blood on his palms and inwardly shuddered at a memory less than two hours old. “Thank you, all of you.” He said quietly, looking steadily at each of his men.

“'Ow ya doin' Warden?” Goniff, like the others, ignored their commander's thanks, they were not needed.

“They worked me over for a few days, there's a couple of cracked ribs I think.”

“Do you want to stop for me to take a look?”asked Actor, knowing the response before it came.

“No, keep moving. Where are we going?” The Lieutenant tried to sit up straighter and regretted the movement straight away.

“London are sending an aircraft for us tonight, they do not want to use the same field again, hence the drive. We are also delivering this car to another Resistance cell.”

“And we are getting you away from Pascal.” Garrison frowned and looked askance at his safe-cracker. “Ya see, he gave you up to the Krauts, he's a stoolie.”

“Not now Casino,” snapped Actor. The young officer's exhausted gaze turned to him and he knew he had to say more. “Pascal was acting under orders.” He added emphatically, but this did nothing to diminish the impact the information had on the Lieutenant. Although he had suspected that he had been betrayed, having it confirmed was not easy to hear.

“Yeah, well get this. You were set-up from the start, they even changed your L-pill before you left, it wouldn't have worked.”

“Casino, I said not now.” The con-man's voice was menacingly quiet, his look hard.

The Italian-American glowered at the rebuke but said nothing else. Garrison tried to compute exactly what had been said and what it all meant. His thoughts stopped dead when the car hit a deep pot hole and an explosion of pain ripped through his upper body, he winced, gasped and groaned all at the same time.

Chief glanced apologetically over his shoulder but drove on.

“Hey, if there's a first aid kit in here, there might be something that will help.”

Goniff rummaged under the dashboard and was rewarded with a small pouch. He passed it back to Actor, concerned to see the Warden was now grey faced under the bruising, he was leaning against the back rest, eyes firmly shut and jaw tightly clenched. The Italian found an syrette of morphine straight away, he tapped the Native American on the shoulder and the young man drew the car to a halt at the roadside under the cover of some trees. Within seconds the drug had been administered and they were moving again and within minutes Garrison was oblivious of everything.

They covered the next two miles in silence. Actor and Casino had moved closer to their leader, supporting him between them in an attempt to ease the jostling movements of the vehicle's springs. The Italian watched the officer go deeper into, drug assisted, and hopefully pain free, sleep. The younger man's welfare had become as important to them, as theirs was to him. His observations were interrupted by a voice from the front of the car.

“So who got shot then?”

The question had been burning on Goniff's lips since he had seen the doors of the German Headquarters open and the con-man step out with the Warden.

“He did.” Actor inclined his dark head towards the Lieutenant. “They put him in front of a firing squad and purposely missed.”

“Jesus Christ!” Casino hissed the blasphemous expletive.

“Bloody Hell.” The Englishman's response was no less powerful.

Chief maintained his silence, but his knuckles turned white on the wheel as he drove.


	8. Chapter 8

Colonel Yates looked up at the young man in front of him. He still looked weary and although he was standing smartly to attention it was obvious that he was favouring his injured ribs.”

“Take a seat, Lieutenant.”

Grateful for permission to sit but with his natural ease of movement robbed by pain and the support bandages in place around his torso, Garrison lowered himself slowly into the chair as requested. The Colonel winced inwardly for his junior officer.

“I know you have been through hell, Son.”

Yates stopped, he knew he had made a mistake straight away, the last word had fallen out of his mouth before he could catch it. He ignored the slightly raised eyebrow and fleeting look of surprise from across the desk.

“How are you?”

How was he? Garrison had expected the question. The bruises on his face were fading and the abrasions on his wrists were healing well, his ribcage and shoulders were still various shades of yellow, through blue to purple but getting better. As for the nightmares? They would go, in time.

“I'm fine, Sir.”

The older man moved the ever present cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, his eyes fixed on the Lieutenant, this was his stock answer and he wasn't 'fine'. The Colonel chose not to pursue the matter further, the medical reports he read were detailed enough.

“I am going to do my best to keep you off operations for as long as I can to give you chance to recover, but I cannot guarantee anything.”

“Thank you, Colonel”

There was a silence, Yates seemed to be working out what to say next, Garrison waited, wondering what was taking him so long. The older man fidgeted in his chair and rolled the cigar around his mouth again.

“I want you to know that neither myself, Colonel Lyle nor the Wren Officer who worked with you, had any notion of what was going to happen in France. I can't find out who gave the order to change things before you left England and er.....”

“Set me up Sir?”

Yates nodded, noting that Garrison had used a term his men would use. The senior officer was still angry about the deliberate betrayal of one of their own by the Allies. All soldiers knew that decoy and deception had been part of warfare since the Trojan Horse and probably before that, but this was much too close to home.

“Is that how you see it?”

There was an even longer silence, the Colonel watched the Lieutenant, his West Point code of honour, not to cheat, lie, thieve or associate with anyone that does, was shot to hell everyday working with his four cons. However that ideal had been written in peacetime by old men before the world went mad and they sent the young to war, yet again. Would Garrison's faith in his chosen service waver in light of this betrayal by those he served? The answer when it came was clear and somewhat terse, but not a surprise.

“No Sir. I was doing my job.”

“I don't think we will ever get to know who gave that order, all I can find out is that it came from the 'Intelligence Services'. We know it was a British operation, could even have been Churchill himself.”

Yates shook his head and appeared to be lost in thought for a few moments, pulling his mind back into the room seemed to be an effort before he spoke again.

“They say that truth is the first casualty of war.”

“Do we ever know the whole truth Sir?” Garrison caught and held the Colonel's gaze.

“I doubt it Lieutenant.”

“Maybe it's better that way.”

*****

“So you still say the army isn't run like a Mob.”

“It isn't.” Garrison insisted, as he watched Casino strut angrily up and down the room the four convicts shared.

The safe-cracker was bristling with indignation at the injustice he felt the army had meted out to the Lieutenant and was now even more convinced of the officer's apparent insanity. How could he accept what they had done to him this time.

“Sure sounds like Mob tactics to me.” Goniff chipped in, raising blonde brows into wayward blonde hair.

“They sold you out Warden.”

Only Actor remained silent as he watched the familiar scene play through. Casino was invariably angry with something or with somebody, today it was the turn of the military and Garrison, yet again.

“It wasn't the army.”

“So who was it then?” The man rounded on his leader mid-stride.

“British Intelligence Services.”

The convicts exchanged looks, then as one, faced their commander.

“And who are they?” Goniff asked shaking his head slowly. “Old colonels, old majors and the like. Army brass in city suits, just wolves in sheep's clothing, that's who they are.” He'd answered his own question but immediately dropped his eyes to the floor, uncomfortable with the fact that the British were probably responsible for what the Warden had been through in France.

“It wasn't personal, Lyle had a choice of three, he could have sent one of the others.”

“Lyle was and still is a Colonel!” Casino spoke slowly and deliberately as if Garrison was a four year old child.

“He didn't know about the....”

“The what Lieutenant? The stitch-up! The sell-out!”

The Italian-American now spat out his words, eyes black with emotion, fists clenched in pure fury. He made to turn away in hopeless dismissal, but hadn't quite finished his tirade He stabbed his index finger at the officer.

“If you hadn't made it, your wonderful army would even lie on the telegram to your folks, that's if you have anyone who gives a damn. They'd say, 'killed in action' not 'set-up by the Allies.”

“That's enough.”

Actor broke his silence, his brown eyes speared the safe-cracker, who spun round to face he older man and to challenge him but Casino realised he'd already said too much. He stopped moving, dropped heavily into a nearby chair and tried to push his still simmering anger away.

The four men watched Garrison closely, waiting for his reaction to the bitterness and fury displayed by the safe-cracker. He could not have failed to hear the barbed addition about the personal life he would not share with them.

The officer was deep in thought and very still, his only movement the habitual worrying of the inside of his lower lip. How could he explain, his need to serve his country, his sense of duty and his continuing loyalty to his service despite everything that had happened. Eventually the Lieutenant came back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. He sighed gently, eased his aching shoulders and ran a slow hand across the back of his neck. He looked at each of his men in turn before his gaze held fast on one, but his words were for all of them to hear.

“Casino, I joined the army before Chamberlain met with Hitler and long before most of the people in The States had even heard of Pearl Harbour. I didn't join to fight a war but I knew that I would. The Army is what I do, it's what I am.” Garrison paused, his voice softened. “The people who care for me understand that and they know the risk. I don't want them to get one of those telegrams, but 'Killed in action' is much kinder than the grim reality of a loved one's death.”

The Lieutenant picked up his hat from the table and headed towards the door, well aware of his four men's silent scrutiny. His eyes met with Casino's in a moment of mutual understanding, as he passed the man's chair he touched him very lightly on the shoulder, then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

*****

Actor, Casino, Chief and Goniff found themselves looking at the back of the closed door in silence. As usual it was Casino who found his voice first, no anger, just resignation.

“He just won't see it will he, his precious Army damn near killed him this time and would have if Yates hadn't stepped in. He won't change.”

“He's just told you how it is for him and why should he change?” Actor asked.

“Well maybe you're right but nothin' and nobody would make me change.”

The Italian smiled to himself, of the four, Casino had changed the most. A change due to the things he had seen and done fighting this war, a change that came from within and deep down the man knew it but he was not going to admit it now. Actor chose to remain silent.

“Well I think Warden's a good bloke and I'm glad he's got someone to care for him.”

“What? Come on Goniff. That was a bluff, the guy was made, not born.”

“You're wrong Mate. He knows it was a close thing this time, never said a dicky bird about havin' folks at 'ome before has he?”

“He didn't say he had anyone Limey. He probably meant his army buddies. Actor you've read his dossier again anything in there?”

“We've been through this before and the answer is still no. The Lieutenant's family is nothing to do with us but I am inclined to agree with Goniff.”

Accepting defeat with a shrug Casino ambled to his bunk and lay back, any residual anger drifted away with the smoke from the cigarette he lit. The pickpocket preened for a moment, pleased to have the Italian on his side, he picked up a deck of cards and began to play Solitaire. Chief said nothing, just gave a rare smile and set out the chess pieces on the board in front of him. The room was quiet, only the flick of card against card could be heard as Goniff played his game of patience.

Actor sat back in his winged chair and tried to read, but found that he was going over the same lines again and again. He could not settle despite the welcome silence of the much needed calm after the storm. The older man had not really felt at ease since their return from France and he knew the only way to solve his disquiet was to speak directly to the Lieutenant. He got to his feet, he could feel Chief's dark eyes watching him.

“Goin' somewhere Actor?”

“I need to speak to the Warden.”

“Anythin' we should all know?”

“No.” Actor said firmly. “It's something I have done.”

Chief watched the only man he'd ever seen look elegant in fatigues, leave the room. Never exuberant unless he was working a con, he'd been even quieter than usual for a few days now. Casino's steady breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep, but Goniff looked up from his game, saw the empty chair, shrugged his shoulders and went back to flipping his cards. Untidy, scruffy and dishevelled as usual, the complete antithesis of the man who had just left, he was completely oblivious of the dark eyed gaze upon him.

The younger man's mind turned to what the pickpocket had said, so Garrison might have someone to care for him – good. Goniff and Casino did, Actor? Well he had lady friends everywhere, or so it seemed, but did they care about him? That left him, who would care if he died? Who would get the telegram? It wouldn't matter to him by then. Chief sighed softly and moved his knight to challenge one of the bishops.

*****

The Lieutenant had been to more than enough meetings for one day. The medics had poked and prodded before applying the restrictive bandages around his ribs, again. The Intelligence officer, had asked the same questions, again. The Colonel, wanted to speak to him, again and finally he'd had a conversation with his men, which had resulted in Casino sounding off at him, again.

Garrison slipped out of his Ike jacket and lowered himself carefully into his chair, behind his desk, in the sanctuary that was his office. He leaned back, loosened his tie, flipped open the top button of his shirt and ran a finger around his collar easing the material away from his neck. Rolling his shoulders slowly in an attempt to undo the tight knots the day had tied into his muscles, he closed his eyes and for a few minutes listened to the silence.

At last, he had some time alone and a welcome opportunity to write the personal letters he needed to send. Shifting position he leaned forward, undid the buttons of his shirt cuffs and turned back his sleeves. He ran his hands around his exposed wrists, a move that had become automatic over the past few days. The rope marks were fading faster than the memories, they too would fade, but would they disappear entirely? He shook the thought away, took a piece of writing paper from his drawer and removed the gold cap from his fountain pen. The Lieutenant only had time to write the date before he heard a sharp knock on the door, he gave a silent groan and looked up. Actor's brown eyes met his.

“Warden, may I speak with you?”

“Sure, come on in.”

He indicated the chair across the desk and watched his second take a seat. The older man had been quiet and uneasy since the group had come back from France and he'd hardly said a word during, before or after Casino's outburst earlier. The officer waited patiently but nothing was forthcoming.

“Actor?”

The single word of enquiry reminded the man why he was there, as intended.

“Ah, yes. I have come to apologise.”

“Why, what's happened? What have they done?”

Instantly on guard the younger man made to stand up and go to find out for himself, but a look at the confidence man told him that this was a personal apology. He relaxed back into his chair.

“What have you done?”

“In France, I am afraid I was over familiar. I used your Christian name.”

Garrison looked askance at the other man, it was not what he had been expecting to hear. Was this the reason he had been uncomfortable and withdrawn since their return to England? It was obviously still playing on his mind, but the Italian did like things to be correct and in their place. He would perceive familiarity as overstepping the bounds of command. The Lieutenant considered for a moment before he spoke.

“Actor, my name was the only thing I could trust and you knew that. You had to get my attention and it worked. How else could you have done it?”

Garrison paused and for a few seconds he was back in the courtyard, a shudder ran down his spine.

“You brought me back from wherever it was I was going in the moments after they - when you found me. There's no need to apologise but I understand and I accept.”

The con-man's broad shoulders dropped with relief, he inclined his dark head.

“Thank you Warden.”

There was a comfortable silence, both men at ease in each other's company again. Garrison took a deep breath, it was his turn to 'clear the air' although in his mind he was merely stating a fact.

“Before you left England the second part of the order was to kill me.”

Actor looked the younger man in the eye, he nodded.

“That's why we had to get you out. We had our paroles to consider.”

The officer huffed at the man's direct reply, a half smile flickered briefly around his lips, then vanished, as quickly as it had appeared.

“Did everyone know or just you?”

“We all knew what had to be done.”

Garrison held the brown eyed gaze for a beat, he was not going to ask the Italian if he would have carried out that part of the order. In silence he watched him uncurl his tall frame out of the chair and get to his feet.

“Thank you for your time Lieutenant.” Back in formal mode the older man nodded once at his commander and left the room.

It was Garrison's turn to stare at the back of a door. He had stopped trying to figure out the complexities that were Actor but one thing was sure, he could always surprise. It still surprised him that he regularly put his trust in the member of the team who he should not trust at all. Now this and all because of the simple use of a name, but how many names did the con-man have written in his dossier? The officer could think of four identities and doubted that the man's real name was written anywhere and certainly not in the records he'd seen.

He leaned back in his chair again, 'What's in a name?' He knew that was part of a quote from Shakespeare. A name was everything and nothing. Actor knew exactly who he was, despite the numerous identities, did his name really matter? As for him, in those desperate moments in France he had chosen to reveal, and probably die in his own name, for others and for himself. The Lieutenant shook his head slowly, he had the peace and quiet he had craved, had time to write the letters he wanted to write and had ended up thinking far too deeply. He sighed softly and picked up his pen.

*****

Two days later Garrison received the telephone call he had been expecting.

“Yes Sir, I appreciate that. Thank you Sir.”

The officer replaced the telephone receiver, picked up the tan briefcase on his desk, handcuffed it to his wrist and left his office to go to see the Sgt. Major.

“You have some sealed orders for me?”

“Yes, Lieutenant, sign here for them please Sir.”

Garrison signed the paperwork as requested, picked up five envelopes, placed them in the case and made his way slowly to his men's accommodation. He opened the door knowing his reception would not be warm.

“Gentlemen, we have a mission. Briefing in 10 minutes, Map Room.”

He turned away from four pairs of disbelieving eyes but felt their heat boring into his back. The voiced complaints hit as one. He turned back to face them.

“You outta your mind, Warden? Somehow, Chief's soft drawl sounded very loud.

“Surely you are not yet fully fit Lieutenant.” Actor's concern was obvious.

“You gotta be kidding.” Casino summed up the feelings of all four.

Goniff's blue eyes hit the ceiling, he shook his head, his silence spoke volumes.

“You now have 8 minutes before briefing.”

Garrison walked out this time, leaving his men to study the back of the door yet again. He went downstairs to the room they regularly used for briefing and debriefing missions, taking the envelopes out of his case he placed one in front of the chairs each of his men used and one in front of his own. Then he waited, the four men moved noisily down the carved oak staircase still discussing the timing of what they were being asked to do. As usual Casino was the most vociferous but a tense silence fell as they filed in and took their seats. They glanced at one another and then all faced their commander. The safe-cracker did not let him down.

“Okay, where to this time? Norway again? Not been there for a while. How about Denmark? Or maybe......”

A cold glare from Garrison, who remained standing, silenced him.

“Before we find out where we are going, there is something I want to say. When Colonel Yates asked you to go to France, you could have said no, but you didn't.” The Lieutenant's gaze fell on each of his men. “Thank you.”

There were nods and some shifting about in chairs but nobody spoke.

“Open your orders.”

The men looked down at the table in front of them, this was different, they had never had written orders before. Taking the lead, the officer picked up his envelope, they were not going to get very far if the men were just going to stare down at the table in front of them. Galvanised into moving each man opened their own envelope.

“Blimey. We're going to London.”

“48 hour passes. Wow!”

Chief smiled briefly as he read his papers.

“Are we really staying there Warden?” Asked Actor incredulously, his long well manicured finger pointing at the name of the hotel printed on his copy.

Garrison nodded, a smile tugged at his lips as he watched his men.

“That's right. There is a suite booked for you all.”

“You not staying with us Warden?” asked Goniff.

“No, I -er – I might cramp your style and I have a meeting to go to. Transport in 15 minutes gentlemen.”

“That's the Army. They set you up, get you half killed and then plan a meeting when you should be on a 48 with us.” Casino shook his dark head. “Hey Babe, you can meet us later! Get some beers and some dames!” His hands traced the female form in the air.

Actor grimaced, subtlety had never been the safe-cracker's strong point. He mentally began to review the names and addresses of the ladies he had made acquaintance with in London, not that he would invite them to the hotel the four men were booked into. Heaven forbid that any one of them should meet any one of his three colleagues.

“Yeah, I know London, I can get you fixed up Warden. I mean with a real nice lady.”

“Thanks Goniff, I'll bear that in mind. Don't forget fellas, I know where you are.” He paused, his steady blue-green gaze fell upon each man in turn. They knew it was a warning not to let him down. “You now have 13 minutes and then we are leaving.”

The Englishman and Casino were first on their feet and tried to get through the door together. The Lieutenant shook his head and smiled again. Chief followed his colleagues.

“Come on Chiefy, if you don't want to go wiv us lookin' for 'birds' I know where there are some really nice parks you can go to. You could even stalk some squirrels.”

“Yeah!” Snickered the safe-cracker. “A delicacy where you come from, Geronimo.”

“Roast 'em on a stick over a fire.” Chief said softly as he passed the others.

“He is kiddin' Mate.” Goniff pulled a face. “Isn't he?” The blonde wasn't convinced.

Casino shrugged and the three younger cons made their way upstairs to change into suits and pack. Goniff's excited chatter, could still be heard. Actor held back.

“Did you choose the hotel, Warden?”

“Well, I was asked, but I didn't make the final decision.”

“It's a fine establishment. Thank you.” He paused and locked eyes with the younger man. “I trust you will have some R&R once you have had your meeting?”

“I'll be okay,” he answered noncommittally, there was a brief but comfortable silence, “Actor go and get ready, enjoy the Savoy, enjoy London.”

The Italian nodded, gave a brief smile and followed the others.

The Lieutenant tightened the knot in his tie, slipped his shoulders into his dark green four pocket jacket and fastened the cloth belt. He picked up the leather grip he had packed earlier in the day from the corner of the room and took his hat from the rack outside. Waiting in the hall for his men, he glanced at his gold watch, he would be in London in good time for his meeting. Garrison smiled gently. 1630, Paddington Station, just so long as her train was on time.

****************

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my story and to those who have left comments your feedback is much appreciated.


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